


No Love Like Your Love

by AgentCoop



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Club Cod Scenes, Dino deserves to die, Dubious Consent, Hand Jobs, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Pining Ash Lynx, Pre-Canon, Rape/Non-con Elements, Shorter Wong: Man Whore, Violence, set right after Angel Eyes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2020-02-18 12:26:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18699586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentCoop/pseuds/AgentCoop
Summary: Ash is released from reformatory with a plan: get the Chinese on his side. Work together to become a united force. Take down that bastard Dino Golzine.And kiss Shorter Wong.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was 100% supposed to be a quick prompt fill and I failed so...multichapter something happening here. Hope you enjoy!

The diner was unimpressive. Tucked neatly between a dry-cleaning shop and some store that advertised ‘meats, cigarettes, and lotto’ in flashing, neon letters, you could easily miss it if you didn’t know exactly what you were looking for.

Ash stood across the street, watching. 

He’d been here for a full ten minutes now, eyes narrowed, face intent. There was nothing particularly ominous about the place—nothing that sang of gang activity or whispered of violence. Still, it was always best to be cautious as the interloper in this particular scenario.

Finally, he shrugged, combed his fingers through the top of his hair, brushing it back in place, then headed across the busy street.

Inside, the place reeked of Chinese authenticity. The tables all bore paper place mats that shouted the Chinese New Year dates and animals in vivid reds. The floor was white tile, with a grout that appeared to have been last cleaned twenty years prior. In the back, the swinging doors that led to the kitchen were still only for a second before a small woman pushed out, trays balanced professionally on the flat palms of her small hands.

“How many?”

Ash looked to his left. Situated jauntily off to the side of it was a kid on a stool, propping dirty sneakers up on the smooth surface of the dark brown podium. A sign stood next to him, with the words ‘Please Wait to be Seated.”

“None,” Ash said. He walked further into the restaurant, aiming towards the very back, towards the signs that pointed to ‘restrooms’. 

“Uh,” the kid said, swinging his legs down and following. “You gotta be a paying customer, man.”

“It’s fine,” Ash remarked, turning down the hall. There were three doors here; one labeled ‘gentleman’, one labeled ‘ladies’, and one just standing plain, at the end of the walkway. This is the door Ash headed to, sneakers squeaking on the tile floor, eyes focused.

“Shit,” the kid said, reaching out to grab at Ash’s arm. “You can’t go up there.”

“It’s fine,” Ash repeated, shrugging him off.

“No, no, you really can’t go up there, fuck, Nadia!” the kid called. “Hey, Nadia!”

Ash sighed, and held his hands up. “Just looking for Shorter. I’m an old friend.”

“Yeah, don’t get all bent outta shape if I don’t take your word for it. Nadia!”

The small serving woman appeared, looking tired, looking annoyed. “What.” she stated, full of irritation.

“Claims he’s a friend of Shorter’s.”

Nadia looked Ash over with some degree of interest, bent forward, glaring into his eyes, then looked down towards his worn converse. She pursed her lips and put her hands to her lips.

In all, it made her look every bit like a Wong. Ash told her so.

“Fuck off,” she said. “He’s upstairs. Be my guest. Aslan.”

The way she leaned into the syllables of his name bequeathed an attitude that Ash didn’t particularly care for. Without answering, he turned and pushed the door open, revealing a darkly carpeted staircase that smelled of a certain medicinal plant. 

“Nadia, Shorter’s busy right now,” the kid was saying behind him. “He told me not to let anyone up!”

“He’s supposed to be working,” Ash caught as he began to take the stairs, two at a time. “He deserves it!” She called, after him.

The upstairs of the diner wasn’t any nicer than the downstairs portion. The staircase entered into a small living room, with an old shag rug covering most of the beaten-up hardwood. There was a sink in the back, and a small stove, with a few hastily constructed cabinets hanging at odd angles above it. The air was thick with the scent of drugs and incense, and though it burned Ash’s throat to breath, he still smiled. This was right. This was familiar. He walked to the back of the apartment, to where there were three doors. 

The first was open, and revealed a painfully neat bedroom—a small twin bed, with a flannel throw tucked perfectly into every edge. A desk with absolutely nothing left out on it. Ash dipped back out into the hallway. The next door opened to a small bathroom, with only a toilet and shower stall. That left only the third, which he pushed open with only minimal effort, as the door caught on an obnoxiously large pile of clothes and had to be forced the rest of the way.

“Yo, Shorter,” he called, then stopped dead.

Shorter was on the floor, on his back, completely naked, with his arms wrapped around the waist of a completely naked girl, who was riding his cock with all the grace of a hurricane. She was tiny, boyish almost, her hair short and tucked behind the curve of her ears, though Ash was focused on the way her thighs clenched at Shorter’s sides, and at the obscene sound Shorter made with every rock of her hips.

She’d turned her head at his interruption, though hadn’t slowed in her activities. “A little privacy?” She called over to him. “Unless you wanna suck my tits or something.”

Shorter moaned again at that, then lifted his head ever so slightly to look at Ash. “Sorry man, forgot it was today, I’ll…fuck, fuck me, that’s so fucking hot—”

(The girl had decided to take matters into her own hands and fondle her own breasts.)

“I’ll be outside,” Ash said stiffly, then he turned and walked out of the apartment, not shutting the door behind him. He hurried down the staircase, then through the front part of the restaurant, passing the podium once more.

“Told ya so,” irritating Chinese kid #1 called after him.

Ash’s pace was now furiously savage, his sneakers grinding into to the floor hard enough to mute all sound. He threw up a middle finger as he pushed outside.

***

“Thought I’d find’ya here!” 

Ash picked up another stone from the side of the crate he was perched on and heaved it at the brick wall in front of him. “Not like it’s hard,” Ash retorted.

The alley was situated directly behind a bar that had quickly become the center of gang activity in the city. So far the Chinese hadn’t expanded into this territory, and hadn’t been willing to join up enough to make the trek out from Chinatown for a dusty hole-in-the-wall meeting with a bunch of street kids. But it was a known haunt, and really, not a stretch to assume it’s where Ash would wind up. 

Shorter put two hands on the tall pile of crates, then heaved himself up to the top, shouldering Ash over, and making himself quite comfortable.

Ash threw another rock.

“You jealous?” Shorter taunted. 

His sunglasses hid his eyes, but Ash could still feel their burning gaze. 

“That you’ve probably got at least six venereal diseases? Right.” 

Another stone hit the brick, leaving a scoring white slash of dust. Then another.

“Forgot you were gettin’ out today,” Shorter said. “Sorry.” He turned and watched the wall. The sunlight spilled into the alleyway, causing the small stones to sparkle against the worn and cracked cement.

“Yesterday,” Ash said. “Had to settle some stuff here first before I could come looking for your lazy ass.”

“Arthur?” Shorter asked.

“Arthur,” Ash affirmed. 

They fell quiet then, and Ash stilled his hand at his side. He lay back, letting his t-shirt catch on the prickling rungs of metal fencing behind him, letting the sun kiss his skin. The alley was nothing special, but it wasn’t reform school. He wasn’t in a cage anymore. His heart beat with the simple freedom of movement.

“You miss me?” Shorter finally said. 

“Could actually sleep without your obnoxious snoring,” Ash replied, but there was a thickness in the back of his throat as he said it. He swallowed, cleared his throat once, then self consciously ran a hand through his hair again.

Shorter reached in the pocket of his ridiculous over-sized Hawaiian t-shirt and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Then he tapped one into his hand, before offering it to Ash.

Ash shook his head. 

Shorter shrugged, then popped it in his mouth, tonguing it to the side, then back again.

“Missing something?” Ash said. 

“Tryin’ to quit. Now I just chew ‘em.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah,” Shorter agreed. “So…your letters. You really wanna work together out here? My boys aren’t too excited by the idea, I gotta tell you.”

Ash grinned. “I’ve seen you scare the shit out of full on gangs made of of guys twice your size. Pretty sure you can kick some sense into the Chinese. Aren’t they all like midgets?”

“Like you should talk. You look thirteen.”

“Fuck off,” Ash said. “I’m seventeen.”

Shorter threw an arm around him then, inching even closer. “Aww, baby boy. Almost a real man.”

Ash froze at that. “Don’t call me that,” he said. His voice was cold. His breath was cold. His body was perfectly still.

Shorter took his arm away, scootched back over slowly, and held up his hands. “Shit, sorry man. Didn’t mean anything.”

“I know,” Ash said. He hopped off the crates and kicked at the gravel underfoot. “Good to see you.”

“Ash,” Shorter called. His voice was laced with regret.

“It’s fine, man,” Ash said. “I’ll be in touch. Gotta work some stuff out here first. Get things back in order. Should only be a few days.” He turned then, and walked toward the opening of the alley. The wind had kicked up a bit, and the flannel that was tied around his waist brushed at the backs of his knees.

“Ash!” Shorter called again.

Ash looked back, ignoring the the tremor that wriggled down his gut. Shorter looked a king on top of the crates—knee tucked up under his arm, the sun reflecting against his bronze skin, cigarette dangling chaotically from the side of his mouth. “Yup?” He called.

“Missed you.” His mouth quirked as he said it, and there was a brilliant flash of teeth.

Ash nodded, then made his way back to the entrance of the bar.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp, this chapter unexpectedly grew feelings on me, so apologies for the angst!

“Lets walk,” Ash said. 

He was tired, he was aching, he had an electric buzz of energy that was thrumming through his veins. He couldn’t sit still, he couldn’t stop for a moment, he just needed to move and move and run—

“You ok, man?” Shorter said, reaching out a hand for Ash’s shoulder.

Ash swatted him away, and turned. “Fine.” He ground it out, hard and metallic on his tongue. “Lets just walk, cool?” He watched Shorter for just a moment, watched the way he looked up towards the sun, the way the reflection glinted off his glasses. Watched the way the skin at his mouth softened as he made his decision.

“Cool,” Shorter affirmed.

There was a warm fluttering in Ash’s stomach and he promptly stomped on a small anthill erupting from the pavement. Ground his foot in. Watched ants run in terror.

They walked then, walked and walked and walked, leaving the dusty streets of the city and following the winding path deep into Central Park. There was no conversation, there was no additional noise, just the sound of the birds in the background and the frenetic pace of the city as it wove around them. Ash didn’t once look at Shorter. He knew he was there, knew he was following, ever dutiful. 

Finally, once they were deep within the park, Ash slowed, and ran a hand through his hair. “Over there,” he pointed. There was a dirt walkway between the trees that was old, that was unused and forgotten, and it led right up to the underpass of a bridge that had been roped off with caution tape. 

They walked down to it, and Ash scaled the crumbling cement and concrete with ease, settling in the tight hood of shadow underneath the structure. 

“Hey,” Shorter called. He followed as well, and managed to crawl up next to Ash with only the bare minimum of dislodging of gravel and swearing. “What happened to your face?”

“Nothing,” Ash said. He tucked his knees underneath his chin and played with the laces of his shoes.

“Did’ja get into it with Arther again?” Shorter pressed.

Ash frowned. “No,” he said. The swirling scent of something floral brushed by them and his hair brushed against his neck in the breeze. 

“You look like you can hardly see out of that eye,” Shorter said. “Someone got you good. Someone call the press. The infamous Ash Lynx isn’t as indestructible as previously thought!”

Ash raised his hand to his swollen right eye and prodded at it. It was sore, and tender, and a dark black and blue, and he was fucking pissed off about it. “Fuck off,” he said.

“Look, man,” Shorter held up two hands in defeat. “I followed you out here. You gotta give me more than one word at a time.”

“Who’se that kid you sent by?”

Shorter blinked at him, considering for a moment, confused by the change in topic. “You mean to the bar?”

Ash nodded. “He’s gotta mouth on him for a kid. And he was a pain in the ass at the diner last week. Said Chinese were in, though, so...” he shrugged. 

“He’s only a few years younger than you, kid,” Shorter said, but he was smiling. “Sing. His big brother Lao is right under me. He’s a good kid, but Lao can be a pain in the ass.”

“That why you let him suck your dick?”

Shorter looked over at him in surprise, a glorious red flush rising up his neck. “Uhh…”

Ash rolled his eyes, then went back to picking at his shoelaces. “Word gets around.”

Shorter scratched at his neck, causing the skin to flush even more. “You just fucking got outta juvie like a week ago! How much can word possibly get around?”

“You embarrassed?” Ash asked quietly.

“No!” Shorter yelped. “Jesus! Fuck! I don’t know…I just—”

“Just watch your back,” Ash interrupted. “Wouldn’t want things to get messy.”

“Look, I can get my dick sucked without it getting messy, punk. I’ve been around a few years longer than you. Don’t worry about it.”

There was something tight in his chest, and Ash pressed his lips together, thinking. A low croon of a heron echoed around them, carried on the wind, and Ash closed his eyes for just a minute, considering how one might suddenly decide to disperse. To cease to exist. To come to a soft ending and merely…burst into otherness.

“Ash?” Shorter said.

Ash opened his eyes and sighed. “Just be careful.”

Shorter shrugged, then picked up a piece of rock and began tracing it in smooth, circular lines on top of the cement. “I trust him,” he said.

“You shouldn’t trust anyone.” Ash scoffed.

“I trust you,” Shorter said. He looked towards the other side of the bridge, towards the deep hollow of shadow there that didn’t hide two boys. Then he sighed. “So what d’ya wanna do about the gangs? Chinese are in but they’re not all together thrilled about it. Why is this so important to you?”

Ash cocked his head, and studied Shorter. “It’s like this,” he said. “The rich get richer. The poor get poorer. The assholes in charge fucking adore seeing us fight it out on the streets and kill each other off. Fucking love it.” He ground the toe of his shoe into the cement, boring away at the gravel there. “Why is that?”

Shorter threw his head back. “I don’t know. Why, pretty boy?”

Ash flipped him a middle finger. “Listen, dumbass. Because it keeps us busy. Keeps us distracted. Keeps us from going after them.”

Shorter considered him for a long moment, breathing deeply, then he wrinkled his nose. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” he said. “I knew you were crazy when you picked a fight with the damn Mexicans in lock-up. God damn it, you’re gonna get us all killed.”

“I’m not saying we gotta go after them now,” Ash said quietly. “Just that we should stop fucking killing each other and start fucking looking for ways to make ‘em pay.” He bit off the last words with a sneer, then flinched at the pull on his swollen eye. “Fuck,” he muttered, and prodded at it again.

“Stop touching it,” Shorter said. “You’ll just make it worse. You gonna tell me who to go after for that?”

Ash shook his head. “I got it.”

“Doesn’t look like ‘you got it’, man,” Shorter laughed.

Ash curled tighter in on himself, burying his head in his knees. He breathed in the musky smell of denim, of dirt. There was a hint of something floral there also. Something that spoke of a higher class than ‘street kid’, something that made him scowl. He wanted to hit something. He curled his hands into fists and felt the press of fingernails against his palms. “What’s it like, kissing Lao?” he whispered.

“Huh?” Shorter yelped. “Shit, I thought we were past that!” He grunted in irritation. “You jealous?”

This was delivered with the customary Shorter Wong sneer; sarcasm, flirtatiousness, and sex all wrapped into one.

Ash just shrugged. If he curled even tighter, perhaps he could persuade the molecules of his body to combine. To combine and combine and combine until they were pressed so small they disappeared entirely. 

Shorter quieted for a moment, waiting for Ash’s answer. He fidgeted, scratching at his neck, then at his shoulder, then through the hole in his jeans to his scabbed right knee. Then finally, because he couldn’t bear it any longer, because he was Shorter Wong and having discussions of any sort of serious nature made him impossibly uncomfortable, he spoke. “Never kissed the guy. Just let him suck me off. He’s way fucking better at sucking than most the girls I’ve been with.”

“How many girls?” Ash asked. He released his fists, then pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, devouring the sharp pain as he hit the bruising. 

“Uh..I don’t know?”

“You don’t know,” Ash whispered. This was funny to him. This tasted of hilarity and so he let a laugh escape, bubbling up from somewhere deep. “You don’t know.”

“I don’t fucking know, okay? I’m sorry. How many girls have you fucked?”

“None.” Ash said.

“Ok, fine, kissed?” Shorter amended. The sun had moved incrementally in the sky as they’d sat there and now it peeked under the bridge, casting them in a warm glow. Shorter stretched out his legs and leaned back on his arms, sighing with pleasure.

“One,” Ash said.

“Then how’d that feel? Take that, add some bulk, and that’s probably how it’d feel kissing Lao.” Shorter spread his legs, then clapped them back together. Then did it again. And again. A restless sort of continual motion that belied his discomfort. “Not that I plan to, mind you. Dude’s too intense. Probably’d take it as an overture to marriage.” He laughed at his own joke, and the sound echoed around them for a few seconds, before fading back into the normal reverberations of summer.

Ash remained curled, quiet, contemplative.

“Ash?” Shorter said. “Can we…can we not—”

“Can I kiss you?” Ash asked. He turned his head slightly, so his one good eye was peaking over the crest of his knee.

Shorter froze. 

“You can say no,” Ash added.

Shorter reached a hand up and removed his sunglasses. There was a stray beam of sunlight that lit on the bridge of his nose, and cut across his t-shirt down to his thigh. He looked a bit confused, a bit floored, and considerably curious. “How many _guys_ have you kissed?” he asked.

Ash clenched his teeth together and willed his shoulders to relax. 

“Shit,” Shorter continued. “I…sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”

“I don’t know,” Ash whispered. 

Shorter scooched up from his lazy lay against the cement, and moved to his knees. “I’m sorry. It doesn’t matter.”

Ash shrugged. “Forget it,” he said. The sound of his voice in his ears was weak, was mouse like, was painfully juvenile and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. 

Shorter raised a hand and placed it at the back of Ash’s neck, coaxing his head up. Then he leaned down and kissed him.

They stayed like this for a minute, then two, the buzz of cicadas tickling at their ears, the call of the heron picking back up, the breeze of the wind caressing their arms, their legs, their necks. 

Shorter broke away first, backing up, and studying Ash with intent eyes. “Everything you wanted?” he joked casually.

Ash watched his eyes though, watched how they burned with a boyish desperation, with a call for unequivocal pleasure to soothe his teenage ego. “Soft,” he said. The word itself was soft on his lips, was feathered touch and gentle whispers. “I—”

Shorter pushed forward and kissed him again, this time deeper, this time persistent and pressed and full of desire. Ash gripped the back of his neck and pulled him even closer, gasped against his mouth, tasted the hollowed bitterness of tobacco and peppermint. “Oh,” he said, as Shorter fell back once more. He raised a hand to his lips, pulled his knees even closer to his chest, urging the aching hardness between his legs to stop, delighting in the fluttering press of wings in his stomach. 

“Sorry,” Shorter said. “Got carried away.”

He readjusted himself then, pulling at the denim that was stretched tight across the press of his erection and wriggling in discomfort. 

Ash smiled, the smallest crescent of joy, tugging at his mouth. His cheeks and ears were hot, and his head felt muzzy and thick as syrup. 

“So, uhh…the Chinese,” Shorter said, grabbing his sunglasses and wrestling them back on his face. His hands were almost imperceptibly shaking and he had to try three times before he got the frames affixed correctly behind his ears.

Ash watched his own hands, put them to either side of his body and studied the way his long fingers lay against the sun-drenched hill of rock. His shoulder blades were prickling with something, his heart ran fast against his chest. “Fuck,” he said.

“Fuck,” Shorter agreed. 

“The Chinese,” Ash said.

Shorter nodded.

The sun sank even lower casting the last of the shadows from their perch and illuminating everything in a sparkling pink afternoon glow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on [Tumblr](http://iamagentcoop.tumblr.com/)  
> or on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/agentcoop1)  
> 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **WARNING**
> 
> **-the first half of this chapter bears reference to child abuse, non-con, dub-con, and Ash’s past. Please proceed with caution. I’ve updated the tags accordingly. If you want to skip this section, I will indicate the ‘safe reading’ spot in bold.**

Club Cod stood at the end of a busy stretch of street—imposing, palatial, and exquisitely rich. The beams holding the portico were black marble that seemed to eat the very sunlight beaming on them. 

Ash stood there, for a moment, in the shadow of a pillar, his hand fumbling with a slip of paper in his right jean pocket.

 _“You are requested at the Club for lunch, tomorrow afternoon.”_ it had said.

No signature. No time. No identifying marks of any kind.

It didn’t need any. Ash knew full well who was requesting his presence and he wasn’t far removed enough from the situation to have forgotten what time lunch was served at the Club. Or what the appetizers for said lunch tended to be.

He swallowed, then pushed through the heavy glass doors and stepped into the foyer.

Inside, there was a live string quartet, playing something light, something lively, something delightfully high society. A maitre d’ stood there, dressed to the nines in a soft looking tuxedo. There was a pen tucked firmly behind his ear, and this he fiddled with, as he ran down seating charts.

Ash cleared his throat.

“Oh!” the man looked up. Then, “Ohh…”

“Reagan,” Ash said, his voice full of disgust.

“Sir,” Reagan tilted his head down.

“Cut the bullshit,” Ash said. “Feel free to tell whatever goons are on duty that the package they requested is here.”

Reagan looked mildly affronted, but still, he reached into the breast pocket of his coat and pulled out an old flip phone. This, he opened, then tapped away meaninglessly for a few moments at the keypad. Then he flipped it shut with a snap and looked back to Ash. “Allow me to find you a proper suit jacket,” he said. 

His words were cordial, but his tone was thickly honeyed, mocking. 

“I’m good,” Ash said.

“Dress code, Sir,” Reagan tried again.

“Fuck off,” Ash said. Then he crossed his arms and turned toward the elevator doors that were slowly opening, slowly revealing a large man, complete in suit, looking dangerous, looking terrifying, looking predatory.

“Hey, baby.”

Ash crossed his arms. “Marvin,” he replied. “Should’a known you’d still be tight on the leash, good dog you are.”

Marvin just smiled, stepped out of the elevator, then motioned back to it. “After you, princess.”

Ash pushed past him, ignoring the shiver that traveled down his spine at having his back to the man. Then Marvin followed him in, pushed in the ‘LL’ button, and leaned, heavily, against the wall.

The elevator doors closed, and it began its smooth descent. 

“Haven’t seen you around much, princess,” Marvin cooed. “Been digging up some of your old videos to make up for it.”

Ash let out a low growl.

“Aww, don’t be like that, princess,” Marvin said. He reached a hand up towards Ash’s cheek.

Ash grabbed the hand, twisted it around Marvin’s back, pushed Marvin up against the side of the elevator, fisted a hand through his hair, then smacked his face against the wall with a resounding ‘thwack’ of noise.

“Fuck!” Marvin yelled. “You fucking fuck!”

Ash let go and casually leaned back against the back wall just as the doors opened. He strode out, ignoring Marvin, who was holding onto his nose and dripping blood everywhere. 

“I’ll fucking make you pay for that, you whore,” he growled.

Ash just flipped his middle finger up and kept walking.

The lower level of Club Cod was reserved for certain benefactors of the institution. It was stunningly beautiful—crystal chandeliers hung from the low ceilings, tables were made of a sparkling black marble, the floors were a clear material laid over hundreds of thousands of sparkling rocks. And in the very center of the room there was a crystalline waterfall that descended from the ceiling all the way down to a clear, black pool.

This was the main attraction. This was where Ash tried not to look as he made his way to the very back of the place. He ignored the stares of the patrons as he brushed past tables. He ignored the whispers that followed him. And he absolutely ignored the three naked boys in the pool who were moaning, and fondling each other.

His ears were buzzing, and there was a thin rivulet of sweat trickling down his spine by the time he reached Golzine.

“Ash.” Golzine said. “Sit.”

“I’m good,” Ash replied.

Golzine frowned “Take your hands out of your pockets, and sit. Didn’t they give you a jacket at the front door?”

“Huh,” Ash said. “Must’a forgotten to offer.” His nose wrinkled and he had a momentary flicker of disgust with how petty he was being. Reagan would be punished, and it would be on him. Still, he took his hands from his pockets and pulled a chair out from the table, then flung himself into it with the lithe gracefulness of a boy on the cusp on manhood. “What’dya want, old man?”

Golzine watched him like a predator. He didn’t blink. He didn’t swallow. He very slowly ran the pad of a fingertip along the smooth lip of his wine glass. 

Ash stared back, but his palms were starting to sweat, and he could feel his heart beating against the walls of his chest. The buzz of conversation around them died down to nothing, and all Ash could hear was the splashing of the waterfall, and the moans of the boys.

Then Golzine laughed.

It was a terrible, gutteral thing, and Ash clenched his teeth against it.

Golzine laughed, and laughed, and then he took a large sip of wine and patted his lap. “Come here, kitten.”

Ash looked at the table. The moaning and gasping behind him was hitting something visceral, he was going to be sick, he was going to be crazy with it.

He remembered how warm that water was.

“Come. Here.” Golzine commanded.

Ash slowly stood, then moved around the table. Golzine pushed his chair out just enough to make room, and Ash threw a leg over him, then sat, face to face, chest to chest. Dino was hard, and Ash could feel that also, against him. He stilled, let his eyesight fuzz around the edges so he didn’t have to see anything with any semblance of clarity, and wrapped his arms around Golzine’s neck. “What did you need, Papa,” he whispered. 

Golzine shuddered underneath him, and Ash swallowed down bile.

“You’ve been stretching your boundaries, since your stint in reformatory,” Golzine said. 

His voice was deep, and it rumbled to Ash’s core. 

Golzine let a hand creep up the small of Ash’s back, stroking along his shoulder blade, then settling behind his neck. Then he pulled Ash even closer to him. “You’re getting mouthy.” 

Ash stared at him, willing his body not to shake. 

Golzine pulled him in for a kiss.

Ash bit him.

Golzine pulled away, quickly, but with a smile on his face, though blood was starting to bead at his lip and drip down his chin. “Oh, my little kitten grew claws,” he said. Then, “I think I’ve been too careless in the amount of freedom you’ve been granted. Too careless indeed.” 

“We had a deal,” Ash said. He was quiet, but assertive. He stroked a hand up Golzine’s chest, let it lay against heartbeat. 

“Oh?” said Golzine.

“We had a deal,” Ash repeated. “Once a week. No more. And your men have already used me up this time.” He reached up then, tucking hair behind his ear and showing off the still splendidly purple bruising at his eye.

“And your negotiations with the Chinese behind my back?” Golzine questioned. “Was that part of the deal as well?”

Ash refused to react. Instead, he leaned in close again, whispered at the flesh of Golzine’s neck. “It’s going to be a long week, waiting, isn’t it?” He rocked slowly against Golzine’s erection, and let out a small gasp. 

Golzine lifted a hand, and suddenly, two bodyguards hauled Ash off his lap, twisted his arm behind him, and slammed him face first into the table. 

“Wait,” Ash said. “Wait—”

“Bring me the little one,” Golzine commanded, and a third guard walked past Ash’s vision, away from the table, towards the fountain.

“No, fuck, no, Papa, wait, I’ll be good, I’ll be—” he cut off in a garbled moan as the guard twisted his arm even further. 

There was a movement behind him, and he tucked his head further in so he could see. From the corner of his eye, a young boy, no more than ten, knelt, pious and perfect.

“You requested me, Papa?” he said, clear, intonation a beautiful, lilting, bell-like thing.

“My men are in need of a good whore this afternoon,” Golzine said. “My current one doesn’t seem to be doing the job.”

Ash squirmed. “Fuck, Papa, I’ll fucking do it, it’s fine—”

“Hurt him?” The quard questioned Golzine.

“Below the face,” Golzine said.

The guard wrenched his arm up, past control position. Ash heard a sickening pop, and then everything went fuzzy.

***

**END OF WARNING**

Voices leaked there way up from the stairwell, and Ash opened his eyes, then pulled his knees closer to his chest.

“Come on, I’ll do it right here,” a lower pitched voice was saying.

Shorter’s inevitable laugh cut through the air. “Jesus! No, just hold on a minute.”

They came around the corner then, Shorter and Lao, Lao with his hands thrown around Shorter’s neck and Shorter trying to duck away. 

Ash looked back down at the ground.

“Oh, shit.” Shorter said.

Ash heaved a small laugh, that cut off in a moan.

“Shit, Ash, you ok, man?” Shorter said.

Lao had drawn his hands back and shoved them as deeply in his pockets as they would go. “What the fuck’s he doing here.”

“Shit,” Shorter said again, then “Lao, go.”

Lao scowled, a dark, blistering thing that cut sharply across his face. “Whatever,” he said, then he turned furiously and headed back down the staircase.

“How’dya get up here without anyone knowing?” Shorter asked. 

Ash rolled his eyes. “Your kid you’ve got out front gets distracted pretty damn easily.”

Shorter thought for a moment, then sighed. “Yeah. He’s only ten though. Gotta fit him in somewhere he’s not gonna get hurt.”

Ash scoffed at this. “He’s in a fucking gang. He’s already hurt.”

“Yeah,” Shorter said. He sounded bewildered, sounded lost and tired, and so much older than nineteen. “You coming in?” He pushed the door open, then reached down to help Ash up. 

“Don’t touch me,” Ash snarled. “I’m fine.”

Shorter threw up his hands. “You look like shit. But whatever. Come on.”

Ash turned to his good side, then painstakingly began the process of unpeeling his body from the dark and stained carpeting. His left shoulder was screaming in pain, and he flinched with every breath. He was furious by how emotional he was being, how the breath was still catching in his throat, how he could still hear the laughing of the guards. “Hey, uh, Shorter?”

“Yup?” Shorter called out from the small kitchenette.

“You know how to pop a shoulder back into joint?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, kid,” Shorter said. “You were less a target in fucking juvie. What the hell are you involved in?” He threw the fridge door closed, then stalked back over to Ash.

“Nothing you wanna know about,” Ash muttered. 

“Brace yourself against the table,” Shorter commanded.

Ash walked right past the table and stood at the wall. 

“Fucking Christ,” Shorter swore again. “It’s easier at the table.”

“This is fine,” Ash ground out, petulant, and annoyed.

“I’m gonna have to touch you, your highness,” Shorter said.

Ash just closed his eyes. “It’s fine,” he muttered. 

Shorter stood behind him then, his breath light at the back of Ash’s neck. Ash squeezed his eyes closed, and tried to ignore the way a shiver traveled from his ears all the way down the small of his back. Shorter swung an arm around him then, supporting himself, and Ash breathed in the heavy scent of cooking oil, of smoke, of something salty like the sea. 

“It’s gonna hurt,” Shorter whispered.

This was nothing like the club. This was nothing insidious, evil, snakelike, twisting words and tangling thoughts. This was a whisper of peace. A whisper of gentleness. 

A whisper of safety.

Then, Shorter swung his arm out, up, and pushed and Ash broke the sentimental silence with a monumental shout of pain, and then, after a brief shove and a quick turn, a fist right into Shorter’s nose.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings here! Just a continuation of the last chapter: Shorter being Shorter, and Ash, trying to figure out how he can let himself trust.
> 
> Thanks so much for the lovely kudos and comments--you guys are all amazing <3

Shorter threw his hand up to his face. “What the fuck, man?” he yelped. 

There was already blood gushing between his fingertips and Ash felt that familiar, sick feeling rise up from his gut. “Shit,” he said. His shoulder throbbed painfully, but it was less a throb of ‘wrongness’ now—more a throb of eventual healing. “Shit,” he said again. “Uh…”

“I think you fucking broke my nose, you little shit!” Shorter yelled, then turned, walking with purpose towards the small kitchenette.

Ash watched him open the fridge, pull out a can of beer, and promptly hold it against his face. “Shit, uh…fuck, I’m sorry!” 

“You better be fucking sorry. I’m gonna look like a raccoon,” Shorter muttered with monumental chagrin.

“It’ll suit you,” Ash called over. He sunk down the wall, letting his knees curl up to his chest, and threw his head back—watching the popcorn ceiling glitter in the small beams of sunlight that passed through the window slats. 

“You,” Shorter pointed, “are far more trouble than you’re worth. I could’ve been getting blown right now and instead my fucking nose is broken.”

“Oh really,” Ash muttered. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the pain in his chest. “By Lao? That dude looks like he’s got a giant fucking stick up his ass.”

“Yeah, well, he can suck a mean dick,” Shorter said. He took the can from his face, prodded at the swelling underneath his eye, then popped the tab, chugged a few good sized gulps, and promptly stuck it back on his nose. 

“I can set it for you,” Ash offered. 

“Fuck no!” Shorter shouted. “I’m not trusting you anywhere near me right now!”

Ash sighed, then raised a hand, carded his fingers through his hair, brushing the blond strands from his eyes. He looked down at his shoes, worn, faded red. Wiggled his toes in them and watched as the fabric pushed out at the very tip of the toe. 

“You gonna tell me what happened?” Shorter asked. He walked over to where Ash was seated, grabbing a chair from the dining table as he went, and pulling it over. 

Ash watched as he gracefully threw his legs around it, sitting backwards, leaning on the back of the chair and looking for all the world like someone in charge, someone who knew what they were doing, someone strong, someone heroic, someone trustworthy. Without his customary shades though, there was still a reflection of boyish curiosity. As the breeze pushed through the windows and sent the vertical blinds brushing against each other, the sunlight hit his skin, allowing it to glow momentarily before it faded back to something ordinary. 

Shorter took another swig of beer, then held it out to Ash. “Want some?”

“You were just swapping spit with Lao,” Ash said. “I’ll get my own.” He pushed himself up from the floor and walked to the fridge, pulling out another beer, popping it open, and then made his way back to his comfortable seat on the floor—back to the wall, eyes at the door, at the windows, on Shorter.

“Jealous?” Shorter said/

This brushed against Ash and brought forth the memory of those same words, under the dusty park walkway. His fingers curled tighter around the beer, and he sipped at it, ignoring the heat that was rising to his face.

“What happened, Ash?” Shorter said again.

“Doesn’t matter,” Ash muttered.

Shorter rolled his eyes, then winced at the pull of skin from the minimal movement. “God damn it, hold on.” He bent over, setting the beer down, then took both hands and pressed them against his face. Then he jerked once. “God fucking Jesus Christ cunt on a fucking sandwich,” he yelled. 

There was the sound of a bird, trilling at the window, and then nothing.

Shorter bent over and picked up his beer, drank the rest of it, crushed the can, and threw it directly at Ash’s head.

Ash ducked, letting it hit the wall beside him with a healthy ‘thwack’ of noise.

“All better now?” Ash said, sweetly.

“Shorter, God Dammit we have customers!” came a call from the staircase.

“Better watch your language then, Nads,” Shorter called back.

Ash heard the door slam downstairs, and then he hiccuped. He pressed his hand to his mouth in surprise, but there was a bubbling inside of his stomach that was rising up to his throat, reaching his tongue. His breathing was wrong. It wasn’t coming evenly, instead it was a sharply staccato thing, painful and terrifying. His hands were starting to shake at his sides, and he pushed them to the ground, forcing the tension to still them, and then he was laughing, he couldn’t stop laughing, he fell over on his good side laughing and laughing and laughing and—

“Not that funny,” Shorter commented from somewhere far in the distance.

“I’m sorry!” Ash hiccuped again. “I can’t fucking stop. Fuck! I can’t—” He just kept laughing—a horrible, grating thing that buzzed in his ears and pushed at his skin demanding release, and then his face was wet with it, because the laughter had turned to tears. “Jesus,” he sobbed, pressing his good hand against his face. “Shit, I’m….fuck—”

“Hey,” Shorter said, closer this time.

“I…” Ash tried to say, but he kept hiccuping and he kept crying, and still he was laughing, a horrid, disgustingly vitriolic sound that escaped from his mouth. “I…I….”

“Ash, breathe, man.” Shorter said.

“I…fuck. Fuck!” Ash managed to yell, pushing his fist into his mouth and biting down hard. There was pain, but it was so minimal, it barely made a difference at all. 

“Hey!” Shorter yelled.

Something cold, and very wet hit Ash directly in the face. He breathed for a moment in completely silence, focusing on holding in air, releasing it slowly, and ignoring the sting of the towel. Then he pushed himself up again. “Did you just throw a wet towel at me?” he asked Shorter. He kept his eyes on the floor—examining the curl of the wood grain, counting the slats as far as he could see.

“Did you want me to throw another beer can?” Shorter asked. 

His voice sound rough. Sounded scared.

Ash felt the returning curl of nausea in his stomach and tried not to think about it. “Naa,” he managed. “Towel worked. Thanks.”

“Ash,” Shorter started.

Ash shook his head insistently, and just stared at the floor.

“God dammit, you’re a fucking disaster,” Shorter said with a forced laugh. Then he walked up to Ash, and sunk down against the wall, cozying in right next to him.

They were close enough that their skin whispered at the idea of touch, yet far enough apart that there was still the smallest separation. “Sorry,” Ash tried.

“Yeah, you’ve said that kind of a lot since showing up here,” Shorter replied. “It’s cool, man. It’s just…you’re tryin’ to run the gang and you’re tryin’ to bring us all in, and you’re kinda asking for a lot and—” Shorter held up a hand, as Ash moved to cut in. “No, it’s fine. I trust you. Shit, even half the gang already trusts you and they don’t even know you. You just…” he sighed.

Ash stayed as still as possible. Still as nothing. Still as though he might close his eyes and cease to exist.

“You gotta trust me, yeah?”

The stillness evaporated and in it’s place, a cold, yawning chasm opened. 

“Ash?” Shorter asked, turning his head.

“I can’t,” Ash muttered. His fingers were rubbing at the wood burls now, and he pushed in harder, desperate for the heat the friction caused.

Shorter groaned. “Ash. Come on, man. I let it go in juvie, but…Jesus. You gotta trust someone. Doesn’t have to be me. Just….someone.”

“I trust you,” Ash said. It was quick. It was quiet. It was barely an utterance at all. He forced his lips together at the words, panic and surprise swirling in his throat but something like relief pressing at his temples.

Shorter stayed quiet beside him.

“I…” Ash tried.

There was a twisting, tangle of darkeness inside of him that was shouting in chaos, that was trying to force roots down, through his throat, out his mouth, through his fingers and toes and knees, and tie him down. 

“I…” he tried again. “Fuck,” he muttered. He threw his head back against the wall, feeling the thud resonate throughout his body. “Fuck.”

“It doesn’t have to be now,” Shorter said. “Just trust me?”

“Yeah,” Ash murmured. “I’ll do better. I promise I’ll do better.”

Shorter smiled at this. “Forget that. You’re fucked up, man. I’m not expecting much here.”

Ash swung his good hand across his body, trying to hit, but Shorter grabbed it before he could, pushed it down, then pressed into Ash’s space.

They were staring at each other, close enough that Ash could feel puffs of breath against his nose. Shorter’s swollen eyes were already blackening, and there was dried blood all over his face. Something about him was so true, though. So open. So honest. Ash pushed forward, and they met—lips touching gently, the softest caress of a kiss, before Shorter pulled back again and stood up.

“Sorry,” Ash said again.

Shorter shrugged. “Don’t be.”

Ash pushed himself up against the wall, peeling his legs from the floor. “I gotta get back.”

“Yeah,” Shorter murmured.

“Thanks for helping with…you know. My arm,” Ash tried awkwardly. Shorter had turned, and was walking over to the couch.

“Thanks for breaking my nose, idiot,” Shorter called. 

Ash wrinkled his nose. “Right,” he said. He walked over to the door, careful not to jar his injured shoulder. As he wrapped his fingers around the knob, Shorter spoke once more.

“Hey, uh…I’m not gonna be seeing Lao anymore. In…you know…that way,” he said.

Ash smiled. “Yeah. I’d be a fucking idiot if I believed that,” he said. The smile crept slowly further, and there was a warmth with it that spread, tingling, and thrumming outward.

“Whatever,” Shorter said. He grabbed at the remote that lay on the TV stand, flipped on the television, then threw himself into the couch with an enormous heave of a sigh. “See ya,” he called.

“See ya,” Ash repeated, the words thick on his tongue, swollen with promise.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter of course turned far more serious than I intended (as all of my chapters seem to do ;) ) but Ash and Shorter getting high together was initially inspired by the wonderful work of [Noctass](https://twitter.com/noctass)  
> that you can check out [HERE](https://twitter.com/noctass/status/1133198903841415168)  
> 

“This is fucking stupid.”

Ash didn’t say a word in return, just watched, waited.

“Shut up, Lao,” Shorter countered, smacking him on the back of his head, then turned to address Ash once more. “You’ve got our help, but god help me if you get any of my crew killed you’re gonna be dealing with me.”

Ash smirked at that. “You couldn’t take me.” Then he smacked his fist down hard on the top of the bar he was sitting at, stilling his swinging legs and looking out at the disorderly teens that packed the place. “So we’re skimming from the top, got it? No one speaks of this to the mob. The Chinese,” he paused a moment to nod towards Shorter who leaned against the bar, arms crossed, “are in on it. If I find any one of you fighting, you’re out. If I find any of you ratting? You’re dead.” He reached behind himself and pulled out a gun, twirling it once deftly between fingers, then clicking the safety off and pointing it at one of the gang members. “So?”

There was a brief mumbling and buzzing of chatter from the group, then they fell silent once more. 

“We good?” Ash asked Shorter, holding out his free hand.

Shorter grasped it with his own and squeezed tightly. “Good,” he said. 

The bar erupted in movement and chaos as everyone pushed to get out, get back to their daily activities. Ash jumped from the bar and shouldered past Shorter, making his way towards the back exit. 

“You’re fucking shit, kid.”

Ash turned and regarded Lao with an expression of indifference. “I don’t have time for stupidity,” he said, looking Lao over. “Fuck off.” He tried to walk around the bigger boy, but Lao grabbed him tightly around his upper arm, pulling him back.

“You have no fucking clue who you’re dealing with, kid,” Lao hissed. “You think you know us? You think you can walk in here and take over the gang? You piece of shit.” Lao spit on the floor, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

“Let go of my arm,” Ash grated out. A blackness was taking over his vision, a sick nausea swirling in his gut. You can’t hurt him, his brain supplied. You’ve gotta unite them or this is all for nothing. Ash glared daggers at Lao, but stood his ground. 

Lao squeezed tighter, his fingernails pressing into skin in small crescent moon indentations. Then he let go with a scoff. “Watch yourself, kid,” he said.

Ash’s eyes narrowed further. 

“Hey!” 

Ash turned to see the kid from the diner cutting through the mass of teens to force himself in between them. He stood with fists on his hips and an expression of irritation. “Come on, Lao,” he said. “Stop being a pain in the ass.” Then he turned towards Ash and offered a hand.

Ash took it, squeezing slightly and pulling forward, then dropping it. 

“Nice to officially meet you, Ash,” Sing said, with a scowl. “Good to see you’re just as good at being a dick on your own territory as you are on ours.”

Clearly the kid hadn’t forgotten Ash completely ignoring him on his quest for Shorter a few weeks back. Ash quirked his head at the imposing sass in his voice. “Sing,” he said, nodding his response. 

“Great,” Sing said, then started pushing at Lao. “Lets go,” he muttered in irritation.

Ash watched the two of them walk through the busy bar, all the way to the front entrance, and through the door. He didn’t miss the way Lao looked back at him as the door closed behind them, his eyes angry and full of hate.

***

The setting sun bathed the city in muted hues of pink and purple and orange. If you watched from Central Park, you would see the way the leaves seemed to turn, sparkling and variegated, shimmering in each ray of sunlight. If you stood at the docks, you’d notice the way the sea began to twinkle. It started slowly, just on the horizon, and then picked up speed—crystalline sparkle spreading exponentially across infinite blue. 

Evening was different in the alleyways. Different in the darkly twisted depths of the city. Here, buildings hid the warmth of the light and instead cast an icy shadow over the more nefarious reaches. 

It was here that Ash walked, hands in his pockets, blond shock of hair falling over his forehead and brushing at his eyelashes. 

Shorter walked next to him, deftly jumping over puddles of muck with the bounding energy of a golden retriever, waiting at moments for Ash to calmly walk around. 

“That can’t taste good,” Ash said, staring at the mangled cigarette hanging from Shorter’s mouth. 

“Eh,” Shorter shrugged. 

Ash rolled his eyes. “You’re weird.”

“I’m eccentric,” Shorter said, with a spin. 

He held out his hand at the finish, over a larger puddle, and Ash accepted, putting his weight on it and jumping the muddy water. Shorter let go at the last second with the smallest of pushes and Ash landed in the middle of the muck, brown sludge splashing up on his jeans, his red converse soaking it up. “You fucking asshole,” Ash growled. He gingerly stepped from the puddle and shook his foot, spraying water everywhere. “God damn it,” he muttered. 

Shorter just laughed, then launched himself up on the stack of crates. They’d finally reached the alleyway behind the diner, so Ash picked up his obligatory rock and threw it as hard as he could at the wall, watching the white streak appear next to a myriad of other similar markings. He picked up another and threw, this time pretending the wall was Shorter Wong’s face.

“Come on,” Shorter said, patting the space next to him. 

The crates smelled of mildew, and the alleyway was almost always cast in shadow, but this had become their place, their hideout, their small bubble of solitude. No one ever walked back this far, around the second curve of the building, and so here they were able to drop the tough acts and just be boys, just be chaotic in their language and movements, just melt into the secrecy of the hideout, just _be_.

Ash wiggled up to the top of their throne and sat, back against the metal fence and began to unlace his shoes, letting them drop to the concrete below. Then he peeled off his socks and chucked them at Shorter.

“Hey!” Shorter yelped, dodging out of the way and almost falling off the crates.

“You fucking deserve it,” Ash muttered, leaning back again and closing his eyes. Inside he was secretly please, secretly enamored of the nervous tingling in his belly. 

Shorter wiggled next to him for a moment, and Ash cracked an eye open to watch him pull a joint from a plastic bag. 

“You wanna?” Shorter asked, holding the blunt to his mouth and lighting it quickly with the small zippo in his fist. He took a long pull, then held it out to Ash.

Ash looked at it for a long moment, not moving.

“You ever get high?” Shorter asked. He pocketed the lighter again, then took another long drag, a smile playing at his mouth.

“Yeah,” Ash said. This sounded cold to his ears, devoid of any emotion whatsoever. The barest ribbon of memory played at the back of his mind—being held down, pills forced down his throat. Then another—loud, obnoxious laughing and the world swimming around him. Being unable to move, unable to talk, unable to scream, and still the laughing went on and on and on—

“Hey,” Shorter said.

Ash opened his eyes again, noticing the way Shorter held a hand out just above his knee—not touching it, but waiting for permission. Ash nodded, and the hand dropped, warm and comforting. He tilted his head up to the hazy sky above and sucked in a long, dry breath.

“You cool?” Shorter asked.

Ash nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Shorter took another long drag and sighed with pleasure, leaning back against the metal fencing again.

Ash watched this. Watched the way his mouth opened ever so slightly. Watched the way his lips closed around the paper, the way his throat moved ever so slightly with the inhale. The way he took the joint from his mouth and exhaled, smoke drifting lazily upward. The way the papers of the joint were damp. Ash held out his hand.

“Yeah?” Shorter asked, passing over the joint.

Ash held it to his mouth, inhaling deeply and holding the smoke inside his mouth, inside his throat, as long as he could before slowly exhaling. Then he did it again.

Shorter laughed, watching him, took the join back as it was offered and took another long pull. “Careful with this,” he chided. “It’s fucking strong as fuck.”

Ash didn’t argue. He could already feel the languidness of his limbs, the heavy press of the air all around him. His movements were dense, like pushing through thick smog. Shorter offered again, and Ash took it, inhaling and smoking it down to the filter. “Sorry,” he mumbled, handing it back.

Shorter just laughed, beautiful and bell-like, and dropped the roach. 

Ash lifted his hand in front of his face, watching his fingers for a moment. Everything was hazy, but he was still in control. There was no one holding him down. No one forcing him. He was free, he was free, he was free—

Shorter kept laughing next to him. “Dude, you are so fucking high,” he said.

This sounded far away—like the echo of something true. “I’m so…fucking…high…” Ash repeated. The syllables felt like caramel candies against his tongue and he swallowed them. “It’s nice,” he murmured.

“Right?” Shorter said, closing his eyes, and raising an arm to rest his head on.

Ash turned and watched him. Time passed, but he was no longer sure how much or how little, only that the sun moved just enough so that a stray beam caught in the alleyway, moving ever so slowly over the bridge of Shorter’s nose. The sunglasses were gone, set to the side, and Ash studied his eyelashes, the way they were so long they almost cast their own shadows on his deeply olive skin. He reached a hand out, watched it quiver slightly in front of Shorter’s face. He watched the way his chest rose with every inhalation, and then fell once more. Watched the way his lips moved ever so slightly with ever intake of air. He leaned even closer, moving gracefully, moving silently, almost holding his breath, until their lips were only a breath apart.

Shorter opened his eyes. 

“Can I kiss you?” Ash whispered.

Shorter watched him for a moment, his brown eyes tracking Ash’s green with every motion. Then he nodded.

This was so slight a motion that Ash almost missed it entirely. It was the smallest hint of acceptance.

Ash moved.

Their lips met in the sinking sun of evening and a tremor ran through Ash’s entire body. He closed his eyes, letting his tongue press forward into Shorter’s mouth, tasting smoke, tasting the bitterness of the cigarette he’d been chewing, tasting something darkly sweet, musky and Shorter.

Shorter groaned underneath him, then wrapped a hand around the back of Ash’s neck and pulled him even deeper, bruising their mouths against each other. Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, he pulled away. “I…” he whispered. “Ash, can I…?”

Ash reached for his hand, gently wrapping his fingers around and then pulling it to himself, lower and lower, pressing Shorter’s palm against his abdomen. He swallowed at the touch, suddenly nauseous, suddenly incredibly nervous.

“Oh,” Shorter murmured under his breath. He leaned in and kissed Ash again, this time slower, more wanting.

Ash was half-hard already and his cheeks flushed with it.

Then Shorter moved his hand.

It started as just a press, just a leaning into Ash’s stomach. Then the pads of his fingers crept lower, to the waistband of Ash’s jeans, worrying the button until it popped open, pushing the zipper down. Ash closed his eyes tightly, and grabbed Shorter’s upper arm, squeezing. 

“Is it alright?” Shorter whispered against Ash’s lips.

“Yes,” Ash let fall from his mouth. 

Fingers reached lower then, stroking against the soft fabric of Ash’s briefs, nudging at the outline of his hardening cock. Ash gasped at the feeling, and he jolted, rocking towards Shorter further. He was hazy with it, like a dream, like a secret desire locked away. 

Shorter slipped his hand underneath the waistband of Ash’s briefs then, skin on skin, fingertips wrapping around his cock, and Ash moaned.

“Fuck,” Shorter whispered at his mouth. “Still okay?”

Ash couldn’t say anything. He didn’t dare open his mouth, he just chased Shorter’s kiss and nodded and still his eyes were tightly shut, impossibly sealed against whatever this was.

Shorter gripped Ash’s cock, stroking it once, then twice, deliberate movements that were so similar to when Ash had tried this alone, with himself, yet the unbearable waves of pleasure from the hand of someone else were impossibly different. Shorter’s movements quickened, slick now from the wetness at the tip of Ash’s cock, and Ash broke away from the kiss, tucking his forehead against Shorter’s shoulder, trying to steady his breathing. 

It happened quickly.

There was a warning flutter at his groin, a warmth, a quickening, and then he was spilling into Shorter’s hand with a gasp.

Shorter laughed, stroked him through it, then brought his hand back into view and wiped it on his jeans. 

“Sorry,” Ash said. He hated the way his voice shook with it, but he was trembling now, and unsure, and no longer certain of anything.

“It’s cool,” Shorter said with a smile. He bent a leg up, wrapping his hand around his knee. 

Ash could see the bulge in his jeans, wondered if something was expected of him. He didn’t know. His arrogance, his surety, his confident swagger was gone and he wanted to cry because he shouldn’t feel this way. He wasn’t allowed to feel this way. This shiver of goodness, this tightening of his stomach with release that was now relaxing into something entirely different, something he knew, something he was wildly familiar with. Shame.

He raised a hand and ran it through his hair, trying to ignore the way his cheeks were burning, trying to ignore the way the drugs were still in his system, still making his movements slow and languorous. He quickly zipped and buttoned his jeans again. “Sorry,” he said once more, trying to tame the quake in his throat. “I…uh…I need to go.”

“Ash,” Shorter said.

Ash was already jumping from the crates, wrapping his arms around his midsection.

“Ash, you alright?”

“I’m fine. I’m fine, I just need to go,” Ash said, but it was quiet. A shadow of his former self.

 _You’re supposed to report to Dino tonight_ , his brain suggested.

Ash swallowed thickly, bending to grab at his socks and shoes. _It’s fine,_ he thought. _It’s fine to enjoy it, it’s fine to want something._

“Ash, fuck, I’m sorry, I—”

“It’s good, man,” Ash called over his shoulder, forcing swagger into the sentence. “Catch you tomorrow.”

A breeze picked up, swirling down the alleyway and raising goosebumps on his arms. He shuddered once, then turned right, down the longer portion that contained the garbage bins and the piles of refuse from the diner, out of Shorter’s line of vision, and then he was out—out in the open—and he started to run. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on[Twitter](http://twitter.com/agentcoop1)  
> or
> 
>  
> 
> [CuriousCat](https://curiouscat.me/agentcoop1)  
> 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *****CHAPTER WARNINGS*****
> 
> **This chapter contains a scene with Dino and Ash. Nothing graphic happens, but it’s still quite disturbing. Please proceed with caution.**

Though Dino’s mansion was situated in Manhattan proper, it was built just far north enough that Golzine had managed to acquire a plot with a significant square footage of land. Walking through the gates was like walking out of the city and into the lush, backyard of someone in Italy. The gardens were perfectly tended to; luxuriant, deeply green, and full of trees that bore plump, ripe fruit. 

Sometimes Ash wondered how this was possible, given that the mansion was large enough that it cast the entire parcel of land in chill shadow for a good portion of each day.

They arrived just as the final cusp of sunlight disappeared behind the long, classical lines of the upper roof. Ash shivered with it—goosebumps pimpling at his bare arm, despite the warmth of the summer air.

“Nervous?” Shorter asked, shoving his hands in the pockets of his vest.

“Naa,” Ash said. 

They stood under cover of an old apple tree, it’s branches bowing with the very beginnings of ripening fruit. Ash had his eyes on the entrance—had his eyes on Marvin, who stood, stoically and impossibly still, his black sunglasses even darker in the shadow of the building. A small quirk of a smile had started tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He’d absolutely seen them—he’d be a shit guard if he hadn’t—and it wasn’t as though Ash were trying to hide. (He fingered the slip of paper in his pocket one more time, another note, slipped casually under the door of his apartment, requesting his presence along with his ‘yellow’ friend.) Still, he shivered again, hating the way he couldn’t see Marvin’s eyes behind the frames.

“We going?” Shorter asked.

Squinting his eyes closed, Ash took in a deep breath of air. Even the city stench was better here, in the gardens, under the careful ministrations of his master. “Fuck,” he sighed out. “Yeah. Yeah, lets go.”

He moved first, letting Shorter fall in beside him.

“If it isn’t pretty boy and his chop stick sidekick!” Marvin grinned at them both, then pressed a finger to his ear, activating his headset. “They’re here boss.” 

Shorter moved in front of Ash and crossed his arms. “Chop stick, eh?” he said with a smile. “You’re awfully clever for a mafia goon! How long it take you to shit that one out? How much—”

“Shorter,” Ash muttered. “Leave it.”

Shorter grumbled, but held out a hand for Ash to pass him as Marvin opened the door.

“Oughta take some cues from your friend here, you shit,” he called to Shorter, as he led them into the manse, and down the long, beautifully lit hallway. “Papa Dino isn’t gonna stand for that mouth of yours.”

Ash could sense the way Shorter’s hackles were already raising, he could see the outline of his fists in his pockets. He reached out and touched Shorter’s arm, drawing his attention for just a moment. “Don’t,” Ash said quietly. “Just trust me.”

“Fuck, I’m gonna need to get so fucking high after this,” Shorter groaned.

They turned right, down another immaculate hallway full of crystal chandeliers and perfectly finished furniture that gleamed in the sunlight pouring in from the windows. Marvin stopped at a large set of double doors, and pressed a hand to his ear again, listening.

“Just don’t do anything,” Ash mouthed to Shorter. “Just nod, and smile, and don’t fucking say anything.”

Shorter cocked his head and flashed a cheeky smile as he saluted. “Got it, boss.”

The gnawing worry grew in Ash’s gut.

Marvin turned to them both. “Aww, boss even? Baby boy is growing up,” he said, reaching for Ash’s shoulder. 

Quick as a feral cat, Ash struck out, hitting him with a sharp blow to his wrist. Marvin yelped and pulled back, sunglasses hiding the glare of angry eyes, but smile turning mean and snake like. “Watch it, boy,” he hissed. “Looks like you’re in desperate need of a reminding of your place.” 

“I’ll let Golzine be the judge of that,” Ash said. He was already cold, already hating the prickle of anxiety that started at the back of his neck and crawled down his spine. Still, he flashed a glare at Marvin, and then pushed forward, throwing the doors open himself.

“Wait!” Marvin cried.

But they were already through.

This was the sitting room. The library. The favorite thinking spot of one Mgr. Dino Francis Golzine, Boss of the Corsican Mafia. 

Ash knew this room well—he’d grown up here in the manse and he’d spent his afternoons lounging here in the library, reading, and listening, and studying, and being in entirely too close of proximity to the Boss himself. None of this mattered now though, he’d re-cemented the walls in his mind just this morning, refusing to let so much as a crack show for this meeting. This was everything they needed, this was the only way to set their plan in motion, to guarantee a chance at eventual freedom.

He sauntered in, graceful and lithe and above all beautiful (because it was how he was trained to be and in this, he would not fail).

“Ash,” Golzine said, the smallest hint of French accent still at his tongue.

Ash watched as he carefully folded the paper he’d been reading, creasing it and setting it down on the small end table. 

Hee picked up his glass of wine and sipped delicately. “You look well,” Golzine smiled.

Ash cocked his head ever so slightly.

Golzine smiled, a serpent’s coiled grin, and held out a hand. “Come in then,” he commanded.

Stepping forward, Ash lept over the back of the embroidered, antique sofa and settled in. “You rang?” he asked, ignoring the chorus of _wrong, wrong, wrong_ , that was beating at his head.

“You’ve been busy, I see,” Golzine said. 

He crossed one leg over the other and Ash watched as the fine Italian drapery of the cream white slacks didn’t so much as crease with the movement. 

“Are you going to introduce me to your friend?”

Shorter stepped forward then, hands still in pockets, fists still clutched tightly. His smile though was easy going, friendly almost. “Shorter Wong,” he offered. “Associate of the Lee faction.”

Dino scoffed at this. “Hardly, my boy.”

There was a brief moment of silence as Ash watched the way Shorter stiffened, incrementally, then breathed and let his limbs relax once more. “Oh?” he asked.

“You are a mere street rat, a leader of children, a king of misfits,” Dino declared. “You are no closer to ‘associate’ of the Lee faction than Ash here is to having bodily autonomy.”

Ash stiffened, then, tried to hide it by shifting his legs and throwing them up, tennis shoes and all, on the flawless fabric of the couch.

“Alright,” Shorter said, shrugging. “I’ll play.” He drew out his pack of cigarettes and pulled one, stuffing it quickly in his mouth. “Gotta light?” he asked, standing, and then, when Dino’s eyes narrowed, he shrugged once more. “S’all good. I’m trying to quit anyhow.” He chewed at the filter for a moment, then took it from his mouth once more, flicking it carelessly to the rug below.

_“Just nod, and smile, and don’t fucking say anything._ ” Ash was absolutely certain those had been his words. Leave it to Shorter to fuck it up within the first minute. He tried to maintain a blasé expression on his face, but inside he wanted to throw up.

“Anyway,” Shorter continued, despite Golzine’s eyes narrowing. “I hear you want to work with the Lee’s. I hear you’re interested in the drug trade? If I were you, I’d certainly be interested being that my…misfits, was it? Hmm,” he nodded. “Yes, misfits, have siphoned potential millions in profits that used to belong to the Corsican mob but now are owned by the Lee’s. I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that your profits in illegal substances have dropped exponentially in the last year. Can’t be good for business.”

Dino began to smile.

This was the smile of a serpent, a reptile, a dangerously terrifying thing. Ash’s stomach tightened and he tried to breath. Shorter was right. He wasn’t stupid, like most of Ash’s gang had tried to convince Ash of on his first day of release. He was conniving, and manipulative, and very, very intelligent, as most kids who ascended to power in the streets needed to be.

He was right, but this wasn’t the current issue.

The current issue was that Ash’s plans were going to shit because Shorter couldn’t keep his fucking mouth shut.

“You think I’m so powerless, do you?” Dino asked.

Shorter just shrugged, and Ash wanted to smack him.

“Ash,” Dino snapped. “Come here.”

_Fuck._

Ash stood quietly, then walked just past Shorter, to stand directly in front of Golzine’s chair. 

“I take it you’ve joined leagues with my son for a reason?” Golzine asked Shorter.

_Son. Son. Son._ The word bounced back and forth against the sides of Ash’s skull and he tried not to shudder with its potency. Shorter was silent, most likely shocked, most likely rifling through his brain for any hint that Ash and Dino were related by more than just sheer hatred. 

“He’s highly intelligent, you see,” Dino explained. “He’s quite capable of finding a threat and neutralizing it. I presume he has not done such with you, as you still have something of value to offer.Now. Ash?”

Ash looked to the rich carpet he stood on—to the exquisitely woven oriental threads of mauve and dandelion and crimson, like blood.

“Come closer!” Dino chuckled. 

The blood was rushing to his face, but still he obeyed.

“Take off your shirt, my boy,” Dino said. He took another long sip of wine, then sat the glass back at the end table.

_I planned for this_ , Ash thought to himself. _It’s fine, it’s not going to disrupt anything, it was always a possibility._ He reached for the hem of his shirt, quickly tugging it over his head, and letting it drop to the carpet below.

“Ash?” Shorter asked.

Ash shook his head, willing Shorter to just shut up for once in his life.

Dino tutted at him. “Slower, my beautiful boy,” he drawled. “Now the pants.”

His hands were perfectly still, his eyes didn’t water, there was nothing wrong, there was nothing unexpected. Ash swallowed, ignoring the tightness of his throat. He popped the button loose from the denim, then toed out of his converse, then his jeans, ignoring the ‘slower’ comment. 

It was a hot summer day, and the air conditioning was running constantly and the library was suddenly so much colder than Ash had realized. He very firmly did not cross his arms over his chest.

“And?” Dino asked. 

This was sugary sweet. Like candy. Like thick and syrupy honey. He felt nothing. 

Ash pushed down his briefs, and stepped out of them also, a small pile of _him_ lying bundled at his feet—white t-shirt, blue jeans, red converse. Inconspicuous. Invisible.

Dino’s smile grew, and he patted the arm of his chair. “You know what I want, beautiful.”

Ash moved forward, then sank to his knees at Dino’s feet. He reached forward for Dino’s zipper, but a hand came down hard, on top of his own.

“No,” Dino said, very clearly, very, very firmly. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m not in the mood.”

This was somehow even worse than being subjected to the typical sexual desires of the disgusting mafia leader. He’d already stripped, he’d already closed himself so far off from the sunlight shining through the floor to ceiling windows of the room that the despair was heavier than being buried under six feet of dirt. 

This was rejection. This was humiliation. 

Dino palmed at his hair, his thick fingers coming through the blond strands. “You see?” he called over to Shorter. “He’s hardly the sort I’d think you would want to follow.”

Ash’s hands were starting to shake at his sides and he moved them to his lap, pressing them hard against his belly. 

“Put on your clothes, you whore,” Dino hissed at Ash. Then he looked back over to Shorter. “Consider your deal done. We’ll work with the Lee’s. Set up a meeting with your boss.”

“I…” 

Ash could hear the tremor in Shorter’s voice and he gritted his teeth against it. _Don’t you fucking fuck it up now,_ he wanted to shout, but his jaw was clenched too tightly for movement. He grabbed at his clothes and shrugged back into everything, quickly buttoning his jeans, and turning, walking from the disgusting opulence of the first floor library.

“Right,” he heard Shorter say from behind. “I’ll be in touch.”

And then Shorter was there too—at Ash’s back, silent, and judgmental, and Ash just wanted to scream with the way his skin felt violated from nothing more than a simple glance.

***

“Ash!” Shorter called.

Ash kept walking. Past the fruit trees in bloom, past the crystal clear waters of the tiny river that ran through the garden, up to the gates, and down the loud and energetic streets of Manhattan.

“Ash, wait!”

He kept walking, brushing past the people of the street, trying desperately to ignore the rush of blood in his ears, the furious beating of his heart against his chest.

“ASH!” 

Shorter grabbed him, pulling him into a side alleyway.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Ash growled. He was looking for an escape even now, a place to run, a place to hide. The alley was closed, they were at a brick wall, there was nowhere to go and he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t fucking breathe—

“Jesus!” Shorter gasped. “Ok, I’m sorry.” He let go, breathing hard.

“Just move,” Ash said, trying to get past.

“No! You need to tell me, you need to…you…oh fuck.” Shorter groaned, his hand going to his mouth. “Oh fuck. You knew, didn’t you? You planned this, you knew he was going to call us in, you planned for him to call us in…”

He closed his eyes, and Ash backed all the way to the wall. Having the brick at his back was better than open air, he could defend if he needed, he could…

His heart rate was starting to slow, and Shorter was looking at him with pure pity. Ash hated it. He shrugged, pushing his hands down, deep in his pockets. 

“Jesus, Ash,” Shorter whispered. “What the fuck. That could’ve…you didn’t warn me, they could’ve—”

“They didn’t.” Ash said flatly. “We were fine. And now you’ll set up a meeting with the Lee’s and we’ll be set. We’ll wait it out a while, then start the skimming. Just like we planned.”

Shorter pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes as though completely overwhelmed. “How…” he started.

Ash felt a cold tendril of dread curl around his gut.

“How can you do that? How can—”

“Oh, fuck you,” Ash growled. The push of anger against the walls he’d carefully constructed inside of himself was hard, was intense, was furious. 

“No!” Shorter shouted. “I don’t mean it like…I knew something was up, I…” he thought for a moment, eyes on Ash’s. “Why do you stay?”

Ash turned and punched the wall, as hard as he could. Then again. And again. He held his fist to himself, watching the split skin at his knuckles start to bleed. “I’ve got no choice,” he spat out. The words tasted so bitter in his mouth that he wanted to puke. “I’ve got nowhere to go. They found me when I was eight years old. Eight fucking years old. I’ve got nothing else, but if I play my fucking cards right, at least I can use him. And someday. Maybe…maybe someday…” the roar of anger at his helplessness returned and his eyes started to prickle.

And fuck if he was going to let Shorter Wong see him cry after that giant shit show.

“Just set up the meeting,” he growled, wiping his fist against his jeans. They bloomed with the coppery red of fresh blood.

“Fuck,” Shorter whispered.

“I’ve gotta go.” Ash pushed passed Shorter and walked back out into the street, tears building up and finally falling over.

Shorter didn’t follow, and Ash desperately tried to ignore the way that, more than anything else, it knifed even deeper in his heart.


	7. Chapter 7

He managed to avoid Shorter for almost an entire week.

Messages from the Chinese gang all went through Alex, who Ash had appointed as interim leader for the times when he was…away. Alex seemed to thrive in this leadership role—he was three years older than Ash, but he’d been living on the streets since he was six and was well versed in gang life. He was also morbidly loyal to Ash. Gang violence had been on the rise when Ash first slipped Dino’s tether, and he’d met Alex at a time when their small group had been near decimated by the Hispanic gang in the area. Arthur had been leading then, and his lust for blood frequently won out over careful intelligence. 

Alex had been the one who helped Ash when he needed it, who supported him when he first took on Arthur, and who rallied the rest of the gang behind him when Arthur was bested. He didn’t have the raw intelligence that Ash possessed, but he had street smarts, and Ash trusted him more than anyone else he knew.

 _Besides Shorter_. 

He flinched with that thought, rubbing at his shoulder. It was mostly healed—at this point, he’d regained all motion—but in an ideal world, he’d keep it taped to his side, unusable, for at least four weeks.

This wasn’t an ideal world.

There was a breeze of motion from behind him, and a page of the large tome he’d been reading flipped with it. Ash’s heart began to race for a second, unable to see who might have caused the disturbance in the air, but it was only another patron. He watched as she settled a few chairs down from him, stacking an armful of books neatly beside her. 

Rubbing at his eyes, Ash looked up at the clock on the far wall. 

2:00 p.m.

He’d been there since 9—ascending the stone steps right as they opened and resuming his perch on the third floor, digging through various business and banking texts and trying to figure out the most reasonable way to siphon of funds from the fucking Mafia. He rubbed at his temples, ignoring the way they pounded from the hours spent staring, and quietly closed the book with a sigh.

He’d have to face Shorter eventually. He’d barely dodged him a few days ago, when the Chinese showed up unannounced at their bar hangout. 

He shook his head again, then carefully set the textbooks in a book cart that stood by the door.

Then he left the comfort of the library, and crossed the street to the Central Park.

Once inside the park, he was surrounded by the quiet rustle of leaves that glowed a sickly green as they prepared to leech their color with the onset of Fall. He’d not noticed how hard it had been to breath in the library, how tight his throat was and how sweaty his palms had become. The library was his refuge, but it was also too barren a place—leaving far too much room for his thoughts to clatter about and tangle into awful conclusions. His heart rate dropped now, as he breathed in New York air—the scent of exhaust fumes and gasoline and cigarette smoke thinly masked by the park with floral notes and whispers of greens and browns. Fresh earth. He eventually found himself once more near the base of the walking bridge, the same one he and Shorter had crawled up underneath weeks ago. Ash followed the memory of this—tennis shoes scraping at the rough cement until he was seated in the darkly shadowed enclave once again.

This was when he started to feel alone.

It hadn’t even been a week, but he missed Shorter. Missed his company, missed his smile, missed the ridiculous way he chewed on his cigarettes, and missed the way the straight tobacco stained the taste of his tongue. 

He supposed, in the best case scenario, that Shorter might miss him also. Ash knew this was far-fetched, wishful thinking. 

He’s probably sucking off Lao in a back alley somewhere.

His stomach tightened at this thought, but he shook his head, trying to dislodge the ridiculousness of it all. He belonged to Dino. He was here, simply because Dino didn’t have a better use for him at the moment. He could read, and strategize, and plot all he wanted but the end result was going to be Dino beating the shit out of him or…worse.

Drawing his knees up to his chest, Ash wrapped his arms around them and then buried his head. 

_“You have no need for friends,”_ Dino had said with a sickening smile. _“You are my lynx. My predator. You are too intelligent, too beautiful for anyone else. It’s thrilling isn’t it? To think how much power you could hold.”_

At the time, Ash had been perched in front of him, hands grabbing Dino’s thighs for purchase while his mouth was filled and his throat worked furiously around Dino’s cock. Contemplating a future where he had even a single ounce of control wasn’t something he particularly wanted to think about while on his knees like a simple whore.

Now, he bit his lip at the memory, worrying at the skin until he tasted blood. He was filled with so much anger, and so much hurt and so much seething rage that he wanted to spit it, or scratch it, or carve it out of himself.

A low whistle jerked him out of his self immolation, and he looked up to see the shadows that the overhead bridge waver slightly as new people stepped underneath it’s cover. 

“Arthur,” Ash muttered. 

This was perfect.

He couldn’t have picked a better fucking time. 

“There’s our little cat,” Arthur crooned. He stepped up to the incline, hands in his pockets and smile cutting across his face. 

Ash recognized a few of the boys with him—Ben, and Dreads and a couple other older thugs from the gang who’d never forgiven him the exchange in power. Wookie stood to his right, tall and huge and threatening, a baseball bat swinging low at his side, and he growled, baring his teeth while looking up at Ash’s perch. 

Ash extended his legs, then slid gracefully down the cement, perfectly balanced in an animalistic crouch when he got to the bottom before, tall as he was able. “I’d fuck off if I were you, Arthur,” Ash said, smiling sweetly.

Arthur scowled at that, his eyes burning with hatred. “You’re full of shit, kid. This was my gang before it was yours. It was my gang when you were serving your time in fucking juvie. And it’s my gang now. You need to back the fuck off, or you’ll regret it.”

“That it, on the diatribe?” He kicked at a stone and watched it skitter to a rest at Arthur’s feet. “Come on, then. You wanna fight? Let’s fight.”

Ash had nothing on him. He’d gone to the library completely unarmed—a routine he followed to a tee because the library actually had things like metal detectors and hell if he was going to get himself arrested for reading a fucking book. He was starting to regret this though, as Arthur had just pulled a very long and very wicked looking blade from the strap at his thigh.

“Golzine’s gonna be pissed if you kill me,” Ash called.

He regretted it the second it left his mouth. Golzine had no place here, and Ash had no business using the sick fuck as a body to hide behind. Arthur didn’t yet know of Golzine’s proclivities though, and so Ash steeled his features and didn’t move, barely breathing as the words hit Arthur.

“Not gonna kill you,” Arthur taunted. “Just gonna teach you a lesson. Then you’re mafia daddy can patch you right back up again.”

He moved then, a brief flick of his head, and suddenly everyone was in motion, everyone was coming for Ash.

It was a dirty fight.

Ash stood no chance, shoulder still burning, and up against an entire group of kids his size or larger. Still, he fought like a wildcat, kicking and punching and biting, and held his own for a good deal longer than he’d anticipated. It felt good to fight—felt good to be able to hit someone and feel bone give way. In Golzine’s clutches, he had no choice but to bow the the violence bestowed on him. Here, he was able to show off his skills, to bite back, and it was freeing, and chaotic, and relieving.

He was in the middle of shattering Ben’s nose, when someone jumped him from behind, knocking him forward and finally rendering him completely useless, as all the other gang members jumped on his flailing limbs.

He was face down on the cement path, Wookie perched at the small of his back, and it fucking hurt like hell. Someone was wrenching his hurt shoulder, and he bit his tongue so hard it started to bleed with his desperate attempt not to scream. They all laughed at him then, wriggling, and cursing, and swearing up a storm—and unable to move out of their grasp.

“Feisty little alley cat,” Arthur crooned, crouching down in front of Ash’s head. 

Ash could barely see him—besides the dirty white tennis shoes that were right in front of his nose, but that damn knife glinted in front of his eyes a few times and he knew something was coming. 

Fisting a hand in Ash’s hair, Arthur yanked his head up. “Stay the fuck away from my gang, you little piece of shit.”

“Too late,” Ash said, smiling red. He could taste the blood in his mouth and felt it as it dripped down his chin.

“Get him up,” Arthur barked, and then Wookie was suddenly off his back and he could breathe again, but there were hands all over him, grabbing his arms, his legs, forcing him into an awkward semblance of a kneeling position.

He wanted to shriek at them all to get their fucking hands off of him—he wanted to run, he wanted to kill them, he wanted to have the ability to ignore the way that hands on his skin made him want to throw up.

Arthur danced closer with the god damn knife—waiving it perilously close to Ash’s left eye. “What would Daddy think if I blinded his little boy?” 

Ash wanted to be far away from that knife. He was starting to feel very uncertain, and very, very afraid. “Don’t, Arthur,” he barked. His voice was loud in his ears, desperate sounding, but he was thankful it didn’t tremble.

“Arthur,” Wookie warned. “Golzine’ll—”

“Shut your face. It’s my gang. My territory.”

Wookie shut up, and Ash cringed away from the knife once more as Arthur swiped it in front of his vision again. 

“You don’t belong here,” Arthur said, eyes glowing with violence. “You need to back the fuck off.”

“Do your worst.” And then Ash spit at him.

Arthur exploded into violence, grabbing Ash’s head and slamming it down into pavement. He held him there, knife trembling at Ash’s throat, and Ash tried not to blink, not to breathe, not to make a single fucking movement because he was about to have his throat slit and die, bleeding out, so very alone. 

“Arthur!” Wookie yelled.

The knife disappeared.

“Give me the fucking bat then.”

Ash could hear Arthur behind him, speaking, exchanging weaponry, but his face hurt like hell and his head was swimming and every time he blinked his stomach roiled with nausea. 

“Get his arm out,” Arthur yelped, and someone grabbed a hold of his wrist tightly and pulled, extending his arm out on the path. He wriggled like mad, but they just held tighter, refusing to let him slip from their grip. His arm felt close to dislocating again, and he tried to roll to take some of the pressure off, but nothing worked, they just kicked at him and laughed, and laughed and— 

“Hey! Arthur!”

Shorter.

Quite suddenly, everyone let him up, and he rolled to his back, breathing hard, clenching his eyes closed, and trying, very hard, not to feel sorry for himself at the fact that Shorter was now rescuing him again.

“What the fuck do you want?” 

Arthur’s voice sounded far away. Ash could hear the entire conversation play out, but it was fuzzy, muddled somehow. He let it dance at the edges of his consciousness, but his main focus was on opening his eyes, on breathing, on trying to figure out if his fucking rib was broken or just bruised. 

“You’re messin’ around in my territory, Shithead,” he heard Shorter yell.

“It’s a public park. Anyone’s allowed here.”

“Wanna fight about it?”

Ash heard the grumbling of Arthur’s gang—no doubt irritated, pissed off, and exceptionally grumpy that they were outnumbered by the Chinese. It faded though, as did the quick orders Shorter gave to his group to get the fuck out here. Then, Shorter was by his side, helping him sit up and glaring at him so hard, Ash thought his t-shirt might actually burst into flame.

“What?” Ash managed, before bending over and coughing up more blood.

“Jesus Christ, Ash. How do you even…how do you get yourself in these fucking situations. You’re entire gang knew that Arthur was looking for you. Hell, even I knew that Arthur was looking for you. Don’t tell me you just wandered out here by yourself, with no fucking idea that the kid you tried to murder a couple of weeks ago wanted to fight your sorry ass.”

Shrugging, Ash stood up, then immediately regretted that choice as a wave of dizziness overtook him and he fell against Shorter.

“Sit the fuck down,” Shorter said, helping him back to the pavement. “Come on. You have a death wish?”

“Maybe,” Ash muttered. 

“For fucks sake!” Shorter yelled, throwing his hands up dramatically at the sky. “Okay, fine. Whatever. I know you’ve been avoiding me.”

Ash became suddenly and irrevocably interested in a small pill bug near his knee that had curled up in self defense and was slowly unfurling.

“Look, your life is fucked, I got it. You gonna avoid me for the rest of it because you’re dad’s a fucking predator and head of the mafia?”

“Not my dad,” Ash growled. The pillbug closed again at the tremor of auditory movement.

“Okay. Not your dad. So…like…fill me in maybe?”

Ash blinked, then set about prodding the bug, watching as it rolled around helplessly on the path. “Not my dad. Ran away from home when I was seven. Got picked up by them a few months later. They run a great racket, you know? Picking up street kids, then selling off to the highest bidder as sex slaves.” He waited a beat, looking up at Shorter’s face just to see if he might say something, or might blanch at the crude words. At what Ash’s life really looked like. 

He didn’t.

And Ash had to give him credit for that.

Instead, Shorter sat down across from him, pulling one knee up to his chest and crossing an arm over it. He took off his sunglasses and hung them in the v-line of his shirt, then watched Ash with curious interest. 

Nothing more. 

No judgement.

Swallowing thickly, Ash continued. “Right. So…Golzine took a liking to me and I still had to work for them in that way. I just…I got to live at the manse.”

Still no sound. No movement. Just that curious stare.

“So he wants to adopt me…” Ash said. Saying it out loud was strange. He still felt that hurt deep within his chest at the thought of being indebted to Golzine for life. But it was freeing to finally tell someone. To say it, to let it out, to watch as the sound evaporated around them. “Formally make me his son, I guess? That’s why he called me son in front of you.” A hacking cough overtook him and he rode it out for a few moments, watching as more blood spattered the pavement. Wiping his mouth, he looked back up at Shorter. “I’ll get out someday. I’m not staying there. Somehow I’ll escape. Today I just needed to fight. I knew they were coming for me, so I hid in the library, reading, and reading, and reading, and suddenly it just wasn’t enough anymore. The tick of the clock was driving me crazy, and I couldn’t sit still, and it just wanted to explode out of me you know? That urge, that want, that need to hurt someone. So I came here, cause I knew they’d find me.”

“They could have killed you, you idiot,” Shorter said.

It was the first sound he’d made since Ash had started talking and it made Ash jump. “Yeah…”

“God, you suicidal fucker” and then Shorter was scooching around so he was right next to Ash, leaning against him ever so slightly. “Alright, cool. Makes sense I guess, now. So how do we fuck ‘em up? Golzine and them?”

Ash laughed at that. It was just so… _Shorter_. Dump his entire shitty life story at his feet, and the guy just nodded along, then proposed to take out the fucking mafia. “You set up the meeting right?”

Shorter nodded at that. 

“Cool. You think you could get me a gun?”

“Where the fuck did yours go?”

“Ah…I actually haven’t had one since being out of juvie. Police confiscated mine when I got arrested. Been faking it for a while now.”

“Jesus fuck, Ash, you idiot.”

“Yeah, well…” Ash pursed his lips a second. “You don’t want to know what I had to do to get that one from Golzine. Just thought…maybe you could help out this time?”

“Shit.”

And there it was. That momentary flicker of pity. Ash leaned away, standing up and ignore the remnants of dizziness. All he knew was that he didn’t want to be touched anymore and he didn’t want to look at Shorter Wong in the face again. “Never mind.”

“Shit, Ash. Yeah, I’ll figure something out. Now will you stop acting like some fucking injured animal around me?”

“I’m not going to kiss you again.” This came out of nowhere. Ash clapped his hand to his mouth, shocked at his own words. “Fuck—”

“That’s cool,” Shorter interrupted. “You don’t have to. Sorry if I was…pushy or anything.”

A flush was growing, staining his cheeks and ears with its heat. “Uh…”

“Seriously, Ash. It’s cool. Don’t worry about it.”

_I want to kiss you._

_I want to be near you._

_I want it to be a quiet thing, a silent thing, not…_

Ash shook his head, refusing to voice the thoughts. “Okay.”

“So a gun,” Shorter said, pulling Ash to his feet. “Any particular request?”

“Nothing automatic.”

“Cool.” Shorter slid his sunglasses back on, and then they walked back down the path, back to the city, back to danger, and violence, and gangs.

Ash’s ribs ached, and his face hurt, but Shorter didn’t slow, and this was alright. This was perfect. 

Because he could almost pretend that everything was going to turn out alright.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for all the support on this! I'm sorry updates have slowed--but man, all your comments this week forced me to get it in gear again!
> 
> I can't promise quick updates at this point--I have a few too many projects at the moment and am switching between them as best I can! But it's not abandoned, and it WILL finish at some point <3

The gun was cold against his skin—hard and heavy and…comfortable. It was almost like he could finally breath again, now that he knew it was there. 

He wasn’t afraid of the streets at night. He’d been walking them for years, knew how to navigate between the gangs and stay far away from the corners the whores worked, where pickpockets and thieves were rife. Still, with the comfort of the pistol at his back, he walked with a new swagger, easy confidence replacing the act that he’d been putting on now for far too long.

Chinatown was busy right now—at ten p.m. on a Friday night. The peddlers screamed of their wares down the streets, the smells from the varying restaurants all mingled, and the crowds of people knocked into him, skin against skin. It was a tangle of senses, all on high alert, yet he concentrated on steadying his breathing before he walked into the diner.

The door tinkled, chimes knocking against each other as Ash pushed through the door. Sing looked up at him once, rolling his eyes and jerking his head toward the back of the restaurant.

“Thanks,” Ash mumbled, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

“Whatever.” Pulling a knee to his chest, Sing grabbed at the partition and spun himself lazily around in circles on his metal stool.

“He got anyone up there?” Ash asked. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was continuing a conversation that had already died, only that there was some kernel of guilt that lay hard in his chest at the way he’d treated Sing in the past. He was just a kid. Just another kid, drawn into a violent lifestyle that was sure to burn out all of the baby fat, and the sparkle in his eyes long before it was due. 

Sing stopped his spinning just long enough to glare. “How am I ‘sposed to know?”

Shrugging, Ash threw up a hand in thanks, or in goodbye, or in apology, then turned, walking to the back of the restaurant and taking the stairs two at a time. 

His heart was starting to beat faster in his chest, painful and horribly obnoxious, and he scowled as he came to the apartment door. He moved to knock, then paused at the last possible second, deciding to just barge in instead.

Shorter whipped around from the couch, hand going to his pocket and grabbing at the butt end of his own gun, before recognizing Ash and relaxing. “Jesus Christ,” he said. “Fucking knock, for fucks sake.”

Ash let the door swing closed behind him, then he walked over to the couch, throwing a leg over and settling on the other side. He scooched into the corner, bringing his knees up to his chest and watching Shorter, who had relaxed his grip on his weapon, and was turning back to the t.v.

“What are you watching?”

“I don’t know. You want a beer?”

“Sure,” Ash said, watching as Shorter stood and moved into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and grabbed two cans of Budweiser, then brought them back, offering one to Ash. “Thanks.”

“Yup.”

“Hey, thanks for the gun. Why didn’t…” he trailed off. _Why didn’t you bring it to me? Why’d you send Lao? Why am I avoiding you, why are you avoiding me, why, why, why—_

Ash popped the top with a finger, and listened to the fizz of the beer for only a moment before tipping his head back and drinking down half of it in one go. “Fuck. You know, I don’t think Lao likes me that much.”

Shorter laughed at this—a loud and garrish noise. “No fucking shit, Sherlock!”

“So why’d you send him? Thought he was going to shoot me with it, not hand it over.” 

“He was probably considering it. You’re kind of a fucking thorn in our sides.”

Ash scoffed, drinking down the rest of the beer and setting the can on the end table with a solid clink of sound. “Never said you all had to work with me.”

“Eh,” Shorter shrugged. “All those old white dudes are pieces of shit. I’m happy to play the part of the little rat that gnaws at the base of their operation. Topple the whole thing down, fucking Jenga, man.”

“Yeah, well. It’s working I guess.”

“You guess? Jesus, Ash. Lighten up. Money’s been coming in steady. It’s working. Your plan is working.”

It was, and yet somehow Ash was still tied up in anxiety. His mind was constantly racing, playing back every possible way things could go wrong, setting up plan B’s and plan C’s and plan Z’s. If the Lee’s caught on, if Dino caught on…fuck. They were all fucking screwed.

“Ash?”

“Sorry.” He looked over to the television—to where people rolling out dough, and putting items in ovens, and running around smiling and laughing and generally having a great time. “What are you watching?” he asked again.

“Great British Baking Show!” Shorter announced this with some pride, extending his beer out as though toasting the contestants. 

“I…” he literally had no words. Shorter was just…well…no words. “Are you high?”

“Yeah.” He took another drink, then set the can down, scowling at the screen. “I’d fucking blow someone for that fucking swiss roll.”

Ash burst out laughing, anxiety banished in the moment of absolute ridiculousness. 

“Why the fuck are you laughing? God, I need something to eat. Hey.” He looked over at Ash, a glint in those chocolate brown eyes. “Go make me a swiss roll. You owe me for the beer.”

Ash flipped him off, hopping up from the couch and going over to the fridge where he very purposely, and very deliberately grabbed another can of Budweiser and popped the lid, drinking the contents in one go.

“At least brownies?” Shorter called, plaintive and mournful. “There’s a box of Duncan Hines above the stove!”

Ignoring him, Ash bent down to rifle through the contents of the bottom cabinet, pulling out a family size bag of tortilla chips. Then, with a quick turn, he threw them direction at Shorter’s head.

He caught them, surprisingly, despite his glassy eyed stare. Then, as Ash made his way back to the couch, he tore into the bag, reaching in for a handful and stuffing them in his face.

“Attractive,” Ash commented.

Shorter opened his mouth, showing off the partially masticated mess. Then he swallowed, leaning back on the arm of the couch, and reached for his beer. “So?” he asked. “Why you here?”

“Was bored,” Ash shrugged. This was patently untrue. He wasn’t actually bored. He wasn’t actually much of anything except filled with an irrational desire to be near Shorter. 

“I highly doubt that.” Shorter tossed another handful of chips in his mouth and chewed, the sound of it loud, even against the cheering of the contestants on television. “You don’t do anything without a reason. Why’re you here? Something up? Arthur giving you trouble again?”

Ash grunted at this—a peeved, irritable sort of sound. “I hardly need your help with Arthur,” he grumbled. 

“Oh. That’s right. You were doing so well against him and his cronies the other day. How are your ribs feeling by the way?”

Ash very purposely did not reach for the sore spot on his side, where his ribs were almost certainly cracked. “I can handle Arthur.”

“Fine! Have a blast with him. He’s a fucking pain in my ass, the less I have to deal with him the—”

“I want to kiss you again.”

Shorter paused, hand halfway to his mouth, full of chips and salt. “Uhh…”

“I mean, I know I said I didn’t. But…I don’t know. It’s not that I don’t want to, just more like—”

“Fuck, Ash, you don’t have to explain yourself.”

He’d never really thought about that. About not owing an explanation for any of his actions. And then, with a sudden rush of anxiety, that gaping hole within him grew incrementally larger as Ash started to wonder if even this, if even admitting desire, or affection, or the want-to-kiss-someone was some emotion planted in his head, was wrapped up in past trauma, wasn’t his own decision after all. “Shit.” Were there any parts of him not wholly controlled by Golzine? He fell silent, raising a finger to his mouth and chewing on the nail. “I think…” he chewed further, ripping into skin. “I think I want to though. Explain myself.”

Shrugging, Shorter grabbed the controller and turned off the television.

Now it was silent, totally silent, and empty. There was nothing but the sharp crinkle of sound from the bag of chips that Shorter stashed at the foot of the couch. 

“Cool,” he said. “Lay it on me.”

Ash closed his eyes for just a minute, visualizing exactly what he wanted to say. “Okay,” he started. “So, before I met you? There was a girl. And I…well…I liked her? But…”

This was the part where his leg began to shake up and down, and swallowing became difficult, and his heart rate quickened because saying it out loud…admitting to it…it was going to become so much more real than he’d ever allowed.

Shorter just stared at him, not saying a word, waiting for him to continue.

“Okay, well. Golzine found out.”

At this, Shorter’s eyes narrowed, and a feral glint reflected from them.

“I didn’t see her again after that.”

Ash watched as Shorter pursed his lips, waiting a long moment to see if Ash might continue. He didn’t.

“Alright, so, you stopped seeing her?” he asked, running a hand across the stubble of his head. 

He was starting to grow it out. Claimed he was going to dye it purple, or pink, or some ridiculous color. It made him smile when he talked about it, and even thinking about that made Ash relax. “No,” he admitted. “It wasn’t that. It’s just that…she was gone. One day she was there, and the next she was gone. I have no idea what happened to her. If her family moved, or if she just started avoiding me, or if…well…if Golzine _knew._ ” The words tasted of poison in his mouth and he fought down the unbearable urge to spit.

“Huh.”

“So yeah, I mean…I liked her. And she disappeared.”

“If you’re worried about me disappearing, it’s not going to—”

“No. That isn’t it at all. I’m just telling you about that because…I don’t know. You deserve to know. Golzine is scary. He’s everywhere. Hell probably figure out this little scheme we have going on here and then we’re both fucked for eternity. I keep trying to outsmart him, to get around him, and I just…I just can’t, I just want to scream, I—”

Shorter had moved, had reached out a hand and layed it atop Ash’s shoulder. “Breathe,’ he said.

And Ash tried. He fucking tried, but Golzine, and Golzine’s men, and…the memories wanted to surface but he squinted eyes closed, trying to tamp them down, seal them, forever and ever and ever. “Fuck,” he said after a moment, drawing in a shaky breath. “Fuck, sorry. It’s just…shit, none of this matters. I’m just trying to tell you…I just…I want to kiss you. But I’m scared. I’m scared of what that makes me. I’m scared that’ll be the end, and you’ll disappear, and Golzine will catch me, and I’ll be locked in a cage with no key, in darkness, and…”

“Jesus, fuck, you’re dramatic,” Shorter laughed. “You weren’t ever this wordy in lockup.”

Ash forced a laugh. “If you fucking dare tell someone about this,” he threatened—

“Ash.” And Shorter moved, rising up on his feet just enough to pivot and turn into Ash. He leaned over, one hand on the couch arm, one hand on Ash’s thigh. “Can I?”

Ash didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to breath. That weight on his thigh, Shorter, he could feel the buzz of current building between them both. Slowly, very slowly, he nodded his head.

He watched as Shorter bent over him, and their eyes met—electric, and full of desire. Their noses brushed just once, and then their lips met. Shorter tasted of beer, and ever so slightly of the sweet bittnerness of the joint he’d smoked earlier. And Ash couldn’t get enough. He chased it, pushing up against the back of the couch and trying to follow, wanting to drown in it. His entire body ached with want, and his heart beat against his chest, faster and faster.

He wanted this.

He wanted this, and yet he was so unbearably nervous, so terrified that Shorter would push, or stop, or do anything at all.

In the end, it was Ash who broke the kiss first. He leaned back, gasping for breath, his cheeks flushed with heat, trying to ignore how much he wanted more, how much he wanted to reach out and touch—to run a finger down the hard line of Shorter’s jaw, down his neck, down—

“Fuck,” Shorter said, taking a deep breath. “Umm—”

Ash sprung forward, wrapping his hands around Shorter’s neck and pulling him down again. Shorter moved with him, getting a knee up on Ash’s side and then he was touching Ash, rucking up the hem of Ash’s shirt and letting fingers roam across flesh, dancing in the grooves of Ash’s ribs, down to his navel.

Ash just clung to him, let him explore, let him dip beneath the button of Ash’s jeans and push more, down to the crease of his thigh, gliding across the sensitive skin of his cock. And suddenly all Ash could see was Marvin, leaning him over a table, dislocating his arm, pressing against him. “Stop,” he whispered. “Wait, stop.”

And Shorter did—he froze completely, watching Ash with big brown eyes. 

Ash reached for Shorter’s wrist, and Shorter pulled away completely, moving to sit next to him on the couch. 

“Sorry,” he said. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

He sounded breathless, like every syllable was work to push out from his lips. Ash winced, his hands balling into fists, and then he pressed them against his eyes as hard as he could. “Fuck.”

“No, it’s not your fault. I’m sorry…I pushed to hard. Sorry, shit, Ash—”

Ash threw himself at Shorter, throwing his leg over Shorter’s lap and straddling him. He forced their lips together again, grinding against him and willing the visions in his head to stop. _I can do this, I can fucking do this_. It was a mantra that wouldn’t stop, he couldn’t get away from it, it repeated over and over and over.

“Ash!” Shorter yelled, pushing him away. “Just wait!”

Ash could feel that flush in his cheeks spread further, hot against his neck, and he wanted to peel off his skin with it, that itch, that burning shame and humiliation and self-hatred. “No,” he muttered. “No, I can, it’s fine, it’s fine!” He ground it out, biting the ends of the words, sharp and vitriolic and forced.

But Shorter gently grabbed one of his hands, intertwining their fingers. “Ash,” he said, more insistently this time. 

Ash opened his eyes, but he couldn’t meet Shorter’s gaze. He looked past him, towards the small kitchenette. Towards the fridge with the beer. Towards the tiny apartment that contained Shorter’s entire life.. 

“You don’t have to,” Shorter said. He cupped a hand under Ash’s chin and turned him, forcing Ash to look at him. _“You don’t have to.”_


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I just want to say a HUGE thank you to those of you who have read, and commented, and supported this. I'm so, so sorry it took me so long to come back to it--I just got a little overwhelmed with this particular story and needed a break. Honestly, every one of you who has left a comment has meant SO much to me. <3 <3 <3
> 
> *****CHAPTER 9 WARNINGS*****
> 
> **Ash is in a REALLY bad state here and making some horrible decisions**  
>  **There is a very dubcon sex-scene midway through the chapter. Ash is in control, but mentally not all there. Heed tags as always <3**

_“You don’t have to.”_

The words rang through his head constant the rest of the week—with every step he took, with every word Golzine uttered, it echoed constantly, over, and over, and over again.

_You don’t have to._

Something about it sparked the tiniest flicker of warmth in Ash’s chest. Shorter was so busy this week that they hadn’t even had time to meet up for a stray cigarette—a good number of the Chinese gang had been called off by the Lee’s on some ridiculous weapons smuggling stunt that was proving to be all-consuming and rendered Shorter unable to even send so much as a simple text message. Even so, Ash could bring to mind the exact cadence of Shorter’s voice as he’d uttered the words, the exact way his lips turned up in a small smile, the exact way his dark, liquid eyes burned into Ash’s.

There was something there, a sort of power that whispered to Ash, begging to be grabbed.

He slept at night on the rickety twin bed he’d acquired, in the tiny, cramped room of their hideout, knees pulled up to his chest, one arm tucked under the pillow, the other reaching down hesitantly between his legs, listening to the memory of Shorter’s voice as it rasped on the syllables, or the way his tongue wet against his lips, as he stroked himself to hardness, closing his eyes and ignoring the clench in his stomach just before he came.

There was guilt and shame associated with even this, with even his own fingers brushing against the waistband of his briefs, the way his stomach tightened at the touch, the way he wanted more, more, more, more.

He didn’t know what it was to want like this.

Ash wasn’t stupid. He was fully cognizant of the fact that real live normal human beings kissed, and real live normal human beings touched each other, and real live normal human beings had sex and this was a good thing between them. It was just a fact that wasn’t relevant to his own life. A fact he’d never wanted to think about before, never wanted to address.

He didn’t like being touched.

He didn’t like being stared at.

He didn’t like being wanted.

With Shorter it was different though. Shorter had seen Golzine and he’d seen what Ash became under that sneer of a smile, under lust-driven eyes, and yet…he was willing to look past it. He was willing to still work with Ash, to still continue a friendship that no longer felt so tentative, but instead felt like something __real.__

There was a shivery warmth in knowing that Shorter forgave Ash for his disgusting past and present, but there was also an awful, pooling guilt that Ash wasn’t doing enough to thank him for it.

And so Ash pondered this idea, running it over and over in his mind, trying to decide how exactly to repay the older boy, and how much of himself he was willing to lose towards that gift.

Eventually, the week came to a close, and Ash put in his due time at Golzine’s mansion. The mafia boss was distracted now, which was advantageous to Ash in that if he purred, and stretched his body, and moaned in just the right amount of excess, Dino left him unattended.

Ash unattended was dangerous.

“Marvin tells me that you’ve been particularly rude to him recently,” Dino was saying now, tying closed the soft silk of his robe, letting it drape across every fleshy fold of his body. “I thought I’d raised you to have better manners than that.”

Ash watched as Golzine stood from the king-sized bed, and walked to the dresser where he lit a cigar and held it to his lips, puffing slowly, letting the greasy, black smoke clot in the air around them. _Marvin is a psychopath,_ Ash wanted to say. _Marvin has videos of me, spread open, bleeding, crying, begging on the floor, and you’d kill him if you knew,_ he wanted to say. Instead, Ash ran a hand through his hair, cringing for just a second at the stickiness he felt there. “I’ll do better, Papa,” he crooned, letting his hand drop and brush against his flat stomach, beautiful, seductive, enticing.

The entire charade made him want to puke, but the hard kernel of an idea was starting to emerge as he watched the way that Golzine’s eyes dilated with lust. Ash swallowed, and then gave a tiny, little moan as his fingers reached further down.

Golzine studied him for a minute, that thick, white mustache quirking up in a grin. “Good boy,” he said, then he turned and walked into the giant master bathroom, closing the door behind him, leaving Ash alone to once more hack into the computer system, and start memorizing numbers, and consider.

He had a strange sort of power over Golzine that he was beginning to understand how to use correctly. And it was a power that might be applicable elsewhere…

He was on his way back into the city, freshly showered and perched in the back of one of Golzine’s ridiculous, shiny black town cars with the spinning rims on the wheels and the tuxedo clad driver, when Shorter finally texted.

_****Done with fucking Lees. Diner? Alley? Somewhere? Need to get high.** ** _

Ash let himself smile, allowed himself that momentary swell of eager anticipation, then texted back:

_****Heading into city. I want beer and food.** ** _

It was only thirty seconds later when his phone buzzed again.

_****Diner it is.** ** _

***

Ash couldn’t help the way his hands were tingling as he stuffed them deep into the pockets of his jeans, or the way he kept biting at his bottom lip, rolling it between his teeth again and again. Something about seeing Shorter these days brought with it boundless bursts of energy, nervous jitters, ridiculous emotions that he’d long buried. The bell jingled as he pushed inside, letting the warmth of the diner wash over him—a welcome relief from the crisp coldness of the late autumn air.

“How many?” Sing asked in a bored drawl from his usual perch on the stool. He seemed to be completely consumed by a tiny Nintendo DS, not even looking up to see who’d walked in.

“Shorter here, or upstairs?” Ash asked. For the first time in his life, he walked up to the little podium, leaned both arms across it, and bent forward, trying to sneak a look at whatever Sing was playing.

Sing jerked back in surprise. “What the hell man? Back off!”

Ash just grinned. “Where’s Shorter?”

Groaning, Sing paused his game and smacked the device down on the top of the podium, right near Ash’s fingers. “I don’t keep track of Shorter, fucking Christ, man. Probably upstairs, being that he fucking lives here.”

“Nice mouth, kid,” Ash deadpanned, standing straight again and heading towards the back. “Aren’t you like…10?.”

“Fuck off,” Sing sneered. “I’m 11.”

Ash rolled his eyes, then reached over the podium and tousled Sing’s hair, leaving it fuzzy and completely unkempt. Sing let out an unruly screech at the maneuver, causing the two patrons of the diner to look their direction for just a moment before turning back to they’re meals. “Thanks, baby,” Ash mouthed, brushing past.

“Fucking white boy,” Sing muttered, just loud enough for it to carry.

Taking the stairs two at a time, Ash reached the landing to find the apartment door cracked open. He peeked in, just enough to see Shorter’s ridiculous purple and gold tennis shoes propped up on the end of the couch, the rest of him presumably reclined across the rest of it. “Hey,” he called, stepping in and then carefully closing the door behind him.

There was no answer, just the heaving hint of a snore.

“Hey!” Ash said louder, picking up the first thing he saw on the tiny table by the door—a stack of flyers for the diner—and chucking them at Shorter’s face. “Wake up, jerk.”

The flyers scattered everywhere, a snowfall of white and red print, mostly landing all over the floor around the couch, but a few actually draping gracefully over Shorter’s prone form. He cracked an eye open at Ash and grunted. “What the fuck, man?”

Ash toed off his converse, and padded over to the couch, launching himself on top of Shorter and perching proudly on the other boy’s legs. “You were supposed to make me dinner,” Ash said, letting enough of a ridiculous, petulant whine into his voice that even he started to laugh. It was a nervous thing though, tinged with anxiety, and Ash quashed the sound as quickly as he could, swallowing around the bubbling giggle.

Groaning, Shorter pulled himself up just enough so that his back was leaning against the arm of the couch now, and leaving Ash sitting uncomfortably on his shins. “Make your own dinner. I’m sleepy.”

“You’re high, like always.”

“I told you I was getting high,” Shorter mumbled, words dissolving into an enormous yawn. “It’s been a hell of a week.”

“Yeah.” There was something tingling in Ash’s stomach now, an anticipatory flutter of nervousness. “I missed you,” he said quietly, trying the words out on his tongue, running a hand through his hair and swallowing thickly.

“Oh really,” Shorter said, voice brimming with sarcasm, but his eyes were more intense now, more focused.

Ash re-positioned himself on the couch, Shorter’s legs in between his knees, one hand on the swell of the couch cushion, the other on his own thigh, ready for something, ready for….

“Ash?” Shorter asked, quieter now, but somehow so much more intense.

Swallowing again, Ash leaned down a little further, putting a hand to Shorter’s knee now and slowly pushing up his thigh, up towards the place where his white t-shirt rucked up just enough to show a bare hint of coppery brown skin. “I want…” Ash started, then closed his eyes a second, trying to gather his thoughts as they rocketed around the inside of his brain. “I want to…can I…can I touch you?”

Shorter’s cheeks were tinged a dusky pink now, his eyes widening at Ash’s words. “Shit…shit…uh…yeah…I mean…”

Ash let his fingers play just at the edges of that t-shirt, brushing against Shorter’s waist, reaching higher towards his ribs, delighting in the tiny gasp that Shorter gave.

“Fuck, Ash…I…you don’t have to do this?” he finally managed to say, but this time it wasn’t a statement. It was only a question, it was want, it was need, it was Ash’s choice, but Shorter’s desire was clear.

This was exactly as Ash expected. He grinned, then let his other hand drop to Shorter’s side, pushing up his shirt now with both hands and rocking gently against Shorter’s legs. Ash wasn’t hard yet, but there was a pulsing need deep within his gut and he could feel himself start to swell just watching Shorter’s lips part, watching the way the other boy gasped in another breath. “I want to,” Ash whispered, hands quickly undoing Shorter’s belt buckle and unbuttoning his jeans.

“Oh fuck, Ash…” Shorter threw back his head and bit back a choked groan as Ash nudged down the top of his jeans and let his thumbs stroke along the hard ridge of Shorter’s hip bones. “You don’t….you don’t…”

Ash grinned. “I want to,” he said again, louder this time, and then he bent all the way forward and pressed his lips against Shorter’s, tasting the sweet bitterness of smoke on Shorter’s mouth, pressing his tongue in gently and then tasting inside too. Shorter jerked against him, but then he was kissing back hard, desperate, full of want and need.

It was like every other time before, but this time Ash was controlling everything, Ash knew what was going to happen, Ash knew how he wanted to make Shorter feel. He knew how to do this. He’d done this before.

Ash’s heart was pounding against his chest, hard and quick, so loud he was certain Shorter could hear it, but as he rolled his hips forward again, this time rubbing friction against his hardening cock sending explosions of pleasure through his body, Shorter just moaned again into his kiss.

Pushing Shorter’s jeans down further, Ash finally broke their kiss, pressing his lips instead to the curve of Shorter’s neck, down the hard line of his chest, lapping at the dip of his stomach for a moment and smiling against that taut skin as Shorter shivered.

“Ash…” Shorter groaned, fisting a hand in Ash’s hair and tugging gently. “Ash…wait…”

“I want to make you feel good,” Ash murmured against Shorter’s belly, kissing down the dark trail of hair that started right below his navel, all the way down to the edge of Shorter’s boxers. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, I promise. I promise I want to.” He kept murmuring as he nudged down the waistband, watching with hazy eyes as Shorter’s cock burst free, and listening to Shorter’s breathy moans getting louder.

He was burning up with this—this newfound potential, this ability to make someone come completely undone with just a whisper of words against skin. Ash could feel the tips of his ears burning red, his cheeks hot with something…guilt? Shame? Desire? He didn’t know anymore. Only that this was working, that Shorter was shuddering underneath him, that Ash had a spark of power here that was dangerous, that was thrilling. He mouthed around the base of Shorter’s cock, pressing kisses into the dark curly hair there, then reach out and grabbing the base, slowly tonguing up to the head and wrapping his mouth around.

Shorter jerked in his grasp, a loud keening sound coming from his mouth before he quickly through a hand over his face and tried to contain it. “Oh…oh…oh…” he panted, hips stuttering in Ash’s grasp.

Ash was hard now too—his own dick pressing uncomfortably against the denim of his jeans, but this wasn’t about him, this was about power, this was about paying Shorter back, this was something he was good at. “Mmmm,” he murmured, and for just a moment, Dino flashed through his mind, how he liked Ash to swallow him down to the back of Ash’s throat, how he liked Ash to hold there, not move, unable to breathe until tears burst from his eyes and—

Ash flinched, closing his eyes hard and pushing back memories. This wasn’t Dino. This was different. This was an exchange. Ash was in charge here.

“Oh my god,” Shorter groaned again, his hand tightening again in Ash’s hair. “Fuck…Ash…”

Ash bobbed down, taking Shorter in one swallow, then drawing back up again and letting his tongue lick a stripe up the underside of Shorter’s cock, delighting in the gentle curve of it, how it tasted underneath his tongue.

“Oh god, yes…Ash…Ash…”

Ash’s name on Shorter’s lips sounded sacred, sounded too round, swelling so large there was no room for the syllables in Shorter’s mouth so they had no choice but to burst free. Ash gripped tighter around the base, then released, letting his hand trail back up the curve of Shorter’s thigh, then swallowing him down again. He wanted to touch himself. He wanted Shorter to cum with Ash’s name on his lips. He wanted this to be…

To be…

_It’s a business transaction,_ that nasty voice in his head spoke up. _It’s to return a favor. You’re still whore._

Ash blinked again, bobbing up and down, listening to the moans of his friend.

He wanted Shorter to want him, in the same way that Ash dreamed about the other boy at night, in the way that Ash looked to the rising sun in the mornings and thought about only Shorter, in the way that a week without contact caused a hole in his heart that threatened to eat him alive.

“Ash….Ash, I’m…I’m…Ash, I’m gonna—”

Shorter cut off with a groan and jerked up into Ash’s mouth, and Ash swallowed and swallowed around his cock, tasting every moment. Eventually, Shorter relaxed with a gasp, and Ash slowly drew away, licking everything clean with quiet determination before drawing up again and wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “Was that good?” he asked quietly, his throat burning with bitterness, his stomach turning somersaults.

“Holy fuck, Ash…” Shorter croaked, finally letting his arm fall to the side, revealing his face.

He was beautiful, and sweaty, and his eyes were watching Ash, and for just one second Ash’s breath caught in his throat because maybe, maybe this could be something.

“Fuck, you’re better than Lao,” Shorter said, laughing awkwardly.

And the moment broke.

“Yeah,” he said, shuttering all emotion, turning himself off. “Figures. I’ve had more practice.”

Then Ash pushed himself up further, crawling off of the couch and straightening his jeans, already going soft underneath everything. “Well, thanks I guess.” He shrugged, then forced his hands in his pockets, swallowing hard.

“Wait,” Shorter groaned, sitting up from the couch and tucking himself back in. “Hold up, I didn’t meant that…can’t I…don’t you want…fuck, I’m fucking high, shit, where you going?”

“Got stuff to do,” Ash replied. He watched Shorter, but it was taking all his concentration not to let his eyes fall to the floor. His cheeks were burning more now, and suddenly everything seemed wrong, everything was off kilter.

“Wait, but…what was that?”

_That,_ Ash had an answer to, at least. “Just…you know. Thanks? For having my back?”

Shorter shook his head, pressing a hand against his forehead as though he had a headache. “Wait…what? What the fuck, Ash? What?”

“I’m paying you back, you fuckwad. You’ve had my back and you know…Arthur and the gun and whatever. Just thanks.”

“Fucking…Ash, what the hell?”

Shorter was standing now, stepping towards him, and this was dangerous, this wasn’t anything Ash wanted, he looked angry, he looked pissed off. “Sorry!” Ash said, crossing his arms and turning for the door. “It’s not like you weren’t enjoying yourself. Sorry.”

Then he carefully turned the door handle, forcing himself not to look back at Shorter, and stepped out into the hallway where he waited for the sound of the clicking lock before he bolted down the stairs.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter--sorry about that! Just really got back into the swing of this fic and had to write :)
> 
> No warnings--Just Shorter and Ash being Shorter and Ash (aka, teenage idiots <3)

It’s three days later, while Ash is curled into the underpass of the bridge once more as his sneakers rub against the concrete, that he sees Shorter again.

Ash’s phone is wedged somewhere deep in the pocket of his jeans, hiding the multiple missed calls and missed messages from the other boy. It’s all just too much right now, Ash doesn’t want to deal with it, he doesn’t want to see anyone, to hear anything.

He doesn’t particularly want to exist.

But Shorter steps into view, his nose wrinkling as he stares up at Ash, and his hands pushing deeper into the side pockets of his jacket. “It’s fucking freezing out here,” he calls up. “Come on.”

Ash is delightfully buried deep in an oversized hoodie, his own hands tucked in the front pocket, his knees pulled to his chest, and the bright red hood falling so far over his face that his eyes are almost covered. Shorter’s right. It is fucking freezing, but despite the shiver his body gives at that thought, he just scowls.

Shorter sighs, kicks at the angle of the cement, right where it starts to rise up, then starts to climb, fingertips brushing the cement for balance as he makes his way to the top. 

Ash allows Shorter to settle in beside him, but doesn’t look at the other boy, just stares off across the small pathway, to the other side of the bridge, where there is an equally uninviting cutout, ripe for dramatic perching.

“Okay,” Shorter says once he’s finally gotten comfortable. (This takes a long while, as Shorter’s limbs are significantly longer than Ash’s, and take a good deal amount more work to curl into shape.) “I’ve called you, I’ve texted you, obviously you’re pissed at me, so can we just get this over with?”

“I’m not pissed at you.” It’s the first time Ash has spoken in a few hours, and his voice cracks as it opens up again. The words fall flat to the cement, dry, barren, meaningless things. Somewhere overhead, a bird chirps, and then another answers, and for a short while there is a musical call and response.

Ash wishes he were a bird.

Sighing, Shorter tilts his head back, and pushes his requisite sunglasses up on top of his forehead. Ash turns his head just enough to be able to see Shorter’s eyes.

“I think I fucked up,” Shorter finally says, pulling his bottom lip in between his teeth and chewing. “I don’t really know…well…shit. Honestly, I think you fucked up too, but I’m sorry if you’re mad at me.”

Ash just rolls his eyes and turns back to regarding the other side of the bridge. “I said I wasn’t pissed. And that’s a shitty apology.”

“Yeah, well…I didn’t ask you to go and do that, you know? Like…what you did…fuck.”

Ash almost grins. Shorter is unable to deliver a single sentence without swearing and sometimes it’s so endearing it feels like warmth blooming in Ash’s chest. Sometimes he wants to reach out and take Shorter’s face in his hands, and pull him forward, and press his lips against the other boy’s and just...cut him off. See what happens.

Right now, though, as Shorter continues on his lengthy diatribe, citing the wrongs, and the fucked-ups, it just feels empty..

Like loneliness.

“You seemed to be enjoying yourself,” Ash says quietly. The wind picks up for a moment, swirling eddies of autumn leaves brush against the walkway, and the bird calls pick up in frenzied excitement. “It’s not like you said no.”

“And if I had?” Shorter asks.

Ash’s foot starts to tap against the pavement, quick, and merciless, and full of anxiety. “You wouldn’t have,” he finally settles on. “It was a blow job. It’s not like it meant anything.”

Shorter’s breath catches for a moment, like he’s on the verge of delivering another massive monologue, or maybe just a single sentence—the sort that changes everything. Instead he just swallows. “Oh,” he says. 

The silence between them builds, painfully taut, so fraut with invisible energy that Ash can feel it about to burst. He’s just about to stand, when Shorter finally speaks again, his words quiet, and contained. 

“It was a really shitty thing to do.”

Ash gawks at him. Physically sits back on his hands, turns his head, and lets his mouth fall open. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Shorter says. He’s picked up a small rock and is tracing patterns into the concrete, swirling, scratching, tangible things—the sound sharp in Ash’s ears. “It was shitty, alright? I wasn’t looking to be paid back for anything, I have your back ‘cause I’m your friend. I never asked—”

“But you liked it!” Ash said, his hackles starting to rise, irritation, and anger, and shame all building to something thick and chalky in his throat. “You liked it! You could’ve said no if you didn’t want me.”

“I didn’t know that was an option, you idiot! I didn’t know what you were doing, or I guess…I didn’t know _why_ you were doing it! I thought…I thought…” Shorter squeezes his eyes closed tight, drops the rock and presses a fist to his head like he’s so furious he’s about to burst and doesn’t have any other way to contain himself. “I fucking thought you liked me, and that’s why. Not that you were playing some stupid game.”

“You…” Ash’s words fall off as Shorter’s outburst rings in his ears. He’s suddenly very unsure, roiling anxiety churning in his stomach, making him want to stand, making him want to throw something, making him want to scream. He’s not sure how they got here—it was just a blow job. It’s something that Ash is so used to giving by this point that it barely holds any meaning at all, and...he was in control. Everything was going according to plan. This sort of reaction is beyond his comprehension and he’s so frustrated that Shorter won’t drop it that his fingers curl into fists in the pocket of his sweatshirt, bitten down nail nubs pressing into skin. 

But there’s something else now too—something new, and uncurling within him. “I do like you,” he murmurs, teeth clenched so tight his jaw hurts.

“Then why didn’t you stay? Why did it have to be a fucking deal, or bargain? I don’t get it, man. Why don’t you trust me?”

_Because trusting is entirely too close to hoping and hoping makes people weak._ Ash didn’t say it, but his jaw clenched even further, and he could feel the tension in his ears. “Sorry,” he finally let out. “I said I was sorry.”

“Fuck!” Shorter yelled, threw his hands up so violently that it started a nesting flock of birds in the tree 500 yards away. He pushed himself up and stood, then kicked at the back of the cutout, hard enough that Ash could hear it, hard enough that Shorter yelled out a few other choice expletives at the hurt in his foot. 

Ash didn’t move though. He just buried his face in his knees. “We gotta ‘nother meeting with the Lees this week. You got that covered?” His voice sounded hollow to his ears, pitched low, and trapped in between his sweatshirt and jeans.

“Yeah, I have it covered.” Shorter fumbled around his pocket for a second, before pulling up a half smoked cigarette and lighting the end of it. He popped it in his mouth and took a deep drag.

“Thought you were quitting,” Ash said, as soon as he smelled the smoke.

“Yeah, well, dealing with your fucked up head is enough to make me reconsider.”

“Thanks,” Ash mumbled, sarcastically.

“Anytime.” 

Shorter skidded down the incline, his sneakers flashing gold as the sunlight hit the pavement. He flicked his sunglasses back down, then nodded up to Ash once more. “Hey,” he shouted. “We good?”

Ash considered this for a moment, letting the weight of the words sink into his skin. There was still a bubble of shame and humiliation over what he’d done that he didn’t want to touch, that he was terrified of getting too close. It lay within him, ready to burst at any provocation, foul and full of awfulness. But above that was something else too.

He could trust Shorter.

He’d been trusting Shorter.

And maybe it was alright if that continued. The wind picked up again, causing Ash to hunch in even further over himself and wish for all the world that he had a winter coat that wasn’t located at Golzine’s mansion. 

“Ash?” Shorter called up again.

Ash lifted his head. He didn’t smile—that didn’t feel right yet, but he could swallow now, without the feeling of something thick and awful stuck in his throat. “Yeah,” he called down. “Yeah, we’re fine.”

“Sweet.” Shorter took a few more puffs of the cigarette, smoking all the way down to the cherry, then he tossed aside, toeing it out against the pavement. “Come by the diner tonight. I’ll make you dinner.”

Grimacing, Ash picked up the rock that Shorter had left and threw it at him. It skittered wildy off course, but Shorter still ducked like an idiot. “How bout you get Nadia to make me dinner? I’m not eating anything you touch.”

Shorter laughed, then bent down, finding another stone and throwing back. This one stayed true to course, and hit Ash right in the knee, hard enough that yelped a curse. Shorter just grinned, then he walked away, confident, cool, full of cocky swagger that Ash envied so much.

Ash just curled tighter, listening to birds as they began to sing again.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [Tumblr](http://iamagentcoop.tumblr.com/)  
> or on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/agentcoop1)  
> or come chat with me on [CuriousCat](https://curiouscat.me/agentcoop1)  
> 


End file.
